Last Living Souls
by Ly Merrick
Summary: It's been 30 days since humanity went extinct.  It happened silently, whimpered out of existence.  By some fluke, Quinn Fabray survived, and as far as she knows she's the only one who did; she makes the long trek to New York City to find life.  AU Faberry
1. Days 30 through 52

**Pairing**: Rachel/Quinn

**Synopsis**: It's been 30 days since humanity went extinct. It happened silently, whimpered out of existence. By some fluke, Quinn Fabray survived, and as far as she knows she's the only one who did.

**A/N**: This is a very AU fic inspired by my own obsession with the end of the world and what it would look like afterward. There's a virus, but no zombies. I'm not sure how long it will be, or when it will be finished, but I hope you all enjoy nonetheless.

###

**Day 30**

The bitterness of tobacco lingered in the back of her throat, an aftertaste of death. It was appropriate since the sky looked a sour green, a silent pall over the abandoned city. Underneath her boots, rubble ground itself into her heel and she adjusted her pack. Another long day of travel ahead was all she had to look forward to, that and the three hand-rolled cigarettes tucked into the lining of her pocket.

Quinn remembered the day the virus hit. It wasn't like in the movies, with mobs of dead swarming the living, groaning. It came silently. Bodies strewn in the streets, corpses slumped in cars. No undead groaning, no shuffling. She'd expected some reanimation, but nothing had happened. In fact, Quinn wasn't entirely sure she wasn't the last person on the planet. She had watched everyone leave Lima three years prior to what she fondly called the Last Day. As far as she knew, everyone in the Glee club were memories now.

It was the 30th day. The era of no people. It was funny how the landscape had changed over the period of a month. The flora had long grown over any man-made structure, tree roots growing around things in circular patterns like something out of a Tolkien novel. It was really quite beautiful, and Quinn found irony in the fact that she was the only one alive to witness it. She may very well be the last to witness it. A sardonic smirk twisted her lips. Her expressions weren't soft like they used to be — anyone who had once believed her to be hard would not recognize her now. Her cropped blonde hair was bound beneath a bandana, face smudged with dirt. It wasn't easy to come across running water. A warm bath would have been lovely, but she hadn't had one of those since the last day. It was quite stunning how quickly she had adjusted to cold water. There was always the option of boiling water, but it was all travel and no time for luxury.

Once Quinn had gotten over her fear of corpses (approximately four days after), she'd broken her way into a Super Wal-Mart and gathered the most necessary supplies. For a quick-fix society, there had been at least a few materials suitable for actual survival use. She had two gallon canteens strapped to her pack, some dried breads and dehydrated meats, along with some warm, lightweight clothing rolled into compact compartments within the pack. For a girl who had grown up fed by a silver-spoon, she had learned the art of survival well.

Above, a Corvid screamed in defiance, or maybe celebration. Animals had flourished since the fall of man. Quinn's legs weren't aching yet, but they would be later in the day. The shadow of the screaming Corvid came closer, near enough for Quinn to see the dark shine of its eyes. She smiled.

"Hello friend," the sound of her voice was so unfamiliar that it caught her off-guard. Puck had liked crows, she remembered. The shadow of it stretched further away, and it was gone. Quinn sighed quietly.

Her mind turned to her former friends and acquaintances. Puck had moved to L.A. with Finn, where they'd both pursued the lives of beach bums (the last time she heard). It seemed fitting, because neither seemed the sort to pursue higher education. Mercedes had moved with her family to Atlanta and started going to community college. Tina and Mike had moved as well — Quinn didn't know where. They'd gotten engaged, the last Quinn had heard, despite the disapproval of Mike's father. Artie had moved to Florida, where they had been pioneering stem-cell treatments for patients like himself. The last she'd heard, he had been using forearm crutches instead of a wheelchair. Brittany, Santana, and Rachel had all moved to New York and gotten apartments near one another. Quinn had kept in contact with none of them.

It saddened her that they were likely dead. The odds were against their survival. Quinn had passed through a few bigger cities, Cincinnati included, and they seemed to be the worst affected by whatever virus had killed off the human population. Without any remaining news sources, any hint, there could be no surmising what had actually caused the extinction of the human race, or why Quinn survived. She had thought it had been some sort of chemical warfare, and her own survival just a fluke. Maybe she'd ended up in a pocket of air unaffected by the virus. It didn't really matter, the reasons why. She was alive and she intended to stay that way. In case the air ever made her feel ill, she had a gas-mask strapped to her pack. It would purify any tainted air.

Quinn almost tripped over some rubble, the cement tumbling aside. She grumbled to herself about being distracted, and continued on. Occasionally throughout the day she'd see a skull or a pelvic bone — human or animal.

She took out one hand-rolled cigarette, struck a match, and inhaled the first taste of tobacco. It seemed contradictory, smoking something that would kill her when she'd been lucky enough to survive the end of the world, but there was no one left to impose that moral judgement upon her.

Quinn continued on through the day, stopping to consume some dehydrated jerky and refill a canteen from the nearest source of clean water.

**Day 31**

Quinn had camped out beside a stream, surrounded by a complexity of overgrown trees and buildings. It was beautiful in a way, Quinn thought while gathering her supplies, the way nature reclaimed everything. The stream she'd camped out by was running through what used to be a strip-mall in some town. Where a water-fountain had stood, tree roots had grown around it, a stream wrapping at the base like cursive lettering.

Still no sign of life, not that she'd expected it. Miles to go and another hand-rolled cigarette, that was what she had. As she savored a bit of dried bread, her hazel eyes scanned the horizon. The sky was a deep gold. It reminded her of Beth's hair. Sweet Beth. Quinn had lost her twice, and a third time when the virus hit. It was best not to think of those things, though, so she pushed aside the thought and kept walking. Her legs were aching a little more than usual today — likely because she could not find a soft spot in the soil in which to lay, and had ended up curled between two tree roots like a bird in a nest.

She'd read in a discarded survival manual that it was best not to lose hope. Positive thinking was, unfortunately for Quinn, the key to survival. So she'd been sharpening her optimism like a knife. There would be some light at the end of the tunnel, some human being at the edge of the world, and that's the way Quinn was walking. To the edge of the world, wherever it was now.

There were some days she remembered Beth's perplexed expressions, Santana's throaty laughter, and even occasionally Rachel Berry's rendition of 'Defying Gravity.' It had become Quinn's favorite, and as sources of electricity were scarce, the dead iPod in her pocket was nothing but excess ounces of weight. Sometimes she'd hum a few bars, ones that complimented the singing in her mind. It comforted her.

How silly it all seemed now, all the high school confrontations. It seemed even stranger that it would be Rachel Berry singing in her mind at the very end of the world, when she'd convinced herself for so long that she loathed the girl. It was all childish, all games.

Now it was all survival.

**Day 32 **

The highway stretched before her, signs covered in dirt. Nameless highways, like cobwebs, went untended. Cement cracked. There was no even ground anymore. Quinn climbed a steep outcropping, the leather grip of her gloves and the tread on her heels keeping her from falling. From her vantage point, the highway evened out for a couple miles, the sun beating down. She knew that it was a little dangerous, walking on such an exposed surface in warm summer heat, but it was the most direct path to humanity, or what she hoped would be humanity.

New York.

Her legs didn't ache today — she'd drank enough water to prevent that. Her back ached a bit, though, mostly because she'd found two spare canteens in the previous day's journey and filled them to the brim. Not the smartest move, but she'd known she was approaching a long journey without any sources of water (aside from digging holes in the ground where water sources might be).

**Day 45**

The New York skyline was all-together unfamiliar. It looked like something from Avatar. Trees had grown tall, monstrous. As she approached, Quinn's relief was bittersweet. This was the end of the road, and she wondered if perhaps there really was life within the city. It was stupid for her to be heading toward civilization, she knew that much. There would be roving bandits and groups of survivors, both equally dangerous in their desperation. Yet something had told her this is where she needed to go, the way she needed to head. Whether it was something embedded in her from being brought up in the Western civilization (New York being the modern mecca for 95% of Americans) or … well, her friends. And Rachel Berry.

Set against the sickly green of the clouds, New York looked monstrous, like something out of a dollar-bin movie where the main character gets kidnapped by renegades of the apocalypse. If Quinn Fabray were going to get kidnapped, then she would rather get kidnapped closer to her old friends than further.

If she wasn't the last person alive, that is. She had to hope she wasn't, although logic told her otherwise. It took her approximately a half an hour to get within New York City's limits.

One thing Quinn didn't expect to see, as she peered up at the buildings crumbling around her, were billboards with who else but Rachel Berry's face on them. A remnant of civilization. There were other billboards of course, most of them electronic and therefore mute, their images long-dead. Quinn felt a surge of pride. Rachel had made it, even if she was gone now. Even if there was nothing remaining, Rachel had at one point achieved her life-long goal. The blonde was glad that Finn had not stopped her from that.

She adjusted the pack on her shoulders, checked her canteens. It was getting dark fast. The days didn't last very long — whatever had killed most of humanity had also affected the environment to a dangerous point. It was mostly darkness. Quinn told herself it was what it must have been like living in Alaska when everything was normal.

While she normally would have built a fire, she decided for safety's sake that it would be necessary to remain as invisible as possible for the first few days while she scouted for any living beings. Ones that preferably could speak a language other than 'caaw-cawk-caw' like a declaration of victory.

Up or down. What would be safer? Likely bandits would take the easiest route — living below ground or in buildings. So she started to climb.

For Quinn's first night in New York City, she slept behind Rachel Berry's billboard. She thought it funny that she should make camp in the cramped space between brick and metal, Rachel Berry's beaming smile protecting her from the sight of anyone who might threaten her existence.

**Day 46**

Morning came dimly, and Quinn stretched her lithe form against the metal framing of the billboard. Nobody had disturbed her — if anybody was out there. She decided she would stay there for the first few days, a stowaway behind the image of McKinley High's Gold Star. She touched the place where Rachel's smile would be, a silent thank you to whatever strange gods ruled this world and guided her here.

She stashed her pack against the backing, pressed it firmly there though the chances of it being seen were unlikely. Nobody would see her, at least she hoped. Quinn pulled on a military-issue jacket, stored a smaller canteen of water and enough jerky to sustain her stomach for the day. Tightening her boots and taking one last glance at her belongings, she scaled the rusting ladder to the ground.

She stuck close to the buildings all day, scouring the landscape for any sign of life. The first day wasn't very successful, although she did find a relatively clean and undamaged walkie on the ground outside one of the buildings. Quinn didn't dare turn it on or try to communicate. There was no telling who would answer, or what they may do if they found her. So, the blonde stashed it away in her jacket.

It was easy to find her way back; Quinn's mind had become accustomed to routes and pathways, a roadmap for every step she took. The dim image of Rachel Berry greeted Quinn before she slipped behind the billboard, settled against her pack, and rested her sore feet. She hadn't been able to take her shoes off in a while. A survival manual had suggested survivors keep them on, in case she was unexpectedly forced to run from aggressors. The tattered copy of the manual lay in the bottom of her backpack, memorized from front to back cover.

It had been a long day, and Quinn was overly tired. She wanted to drop off into a deep sleep, but she'd learned that was not a smart thing to do. Mostly because she'd fallen into a deep sleep one night amid some trees and woken up to a bear rummaging through her pack. There were no bears here, but there were most likely bandits. The thing about humans, Quinn surmised, was that they could be vicious for the sole purpose of being vicious. Animals survived on instinct and only resorted to viciousness to survive.

Quinn's sleep was always light. After unpacking everything from her jacket and setting the walkie beside her pack. Restlessly, she tried to get comfortable, and could not find a good position.

And then she broke radio-silence, at least somewhat. She flipped the walkie on, and instead of sleeping that night, she fished through the channels listening for any sign of humanity.

**Day 50**

It took Quinn a lot of hours to find more signs. There were definitely people alive in this city. She almost always kept the walkie on, but had yet to hear a human voice over the frequency. The search was restless, a desire to find humanity in this post-apocalyptic wasteland. She'd found a few abandoned buildings with relatively fresh sleeping places, but what she found seemed to be remnants of a nomadic group. Staying in one place would after all be dangerous in a land with groups of individuals ready to kill for food.

She felt better knowing she wasn't alone, however vast the cityscape was.

Quinn had never been more startled than when she had finished packing up her things, following the nomadic trail of whoever had survived. As she'd strapped her pack to her back and hooked the whispering walkie to her belt, someone spoke.

"Rubber Duck, this is Razorblade. Come in Rubber Duck. Over."

Quinn had almost fallen off the ladder. The unfamiliarity of another human voice was so foreign that Quinn almost couldn't understand her own language. She contemplated answering, but remained silent. There was something about the voice that struck her, besides its unfamiliarity after 50 days of only hearing her own voice.

"Rubber Duck, I repeat, this is Razorblade. Come in. Over."

Quinn wondered if this was what it was like to hallucinate in the desert. Did survivors stumble, hear voices that sounded like old friends and family?

It sounded like Santana.

"Fuck familiarity," the voice, "Britt, are you there or not? Fucking over."

Santana. Brittany. Razorblade and Rubber Duck.

"Oh my god," Quinn uttered her first words in days, her voice stiff and cracking in her throat. The sound of not only a human voice but one she knew? It couldn't be possible. She couldn't be so lucky. Hands shaking, she lifted the walkie. There wasn't any way in hell out of 6 billion people that people she knew had also survived. She pressed the call button. "This isn't Rubber Duck. Or Britt."

"Then who the fuck is it?" A pause, and the voice clicked to life again, "Over." It was comical, the hint of impatience at formalities.

"Quinn Fabray."

"You're shitting me." Formality over.

"Uhm, no."

"What are the chances?"

"I think very small." Quinn wanted to cry for relief, but instead closed her eyes and breathed.

"You see Britt anywhere?"

"No," Quinn answered, "I found this somewhere in the streets. The signs were too rusted for me to tell you where."

"Shit," buzz. Static. "Would you be able to show us where?"

Quinn nodded, then remembered that nobody was present. She pressed the call button. "Yeah."

"Where are you?"

"I've been sleeping behind Rachel Berry's billboard since I got into the city."

"Funny that, huh? She actually came through."

"Yeah."

Quinn wanted to ask if Rachel was alive. She thought better of it. One blessing was enough for the day.

###

It was about an hour before she heard footsteps that were not her own. The blonde had been eagerly awaiting any sound, hidden enough so if they had been unfriendlies, she couldn't be found.

"Razorblade to Tubbers," Santana called, apparently aware of her presence and the lack of any unfriendly presence.

Quinn all but piled into Santana's arms. With the added weight of her backpack, she almost knocked the Latina over. Santana smelled different now — like ash and fire. It was so strange feeling human warmth that Quinn almost didn't know how to feel. She clung to Santana and didn't realize she was shaking until Santana commented on it.

"Hey Q, you're shaking like a leaf," Santana murmured wryly and held fast to her friend. "I'm glad to know you're alive. Haven't really known whether or not anyone else was."

Quinn wanted to ask about Rachel, but was struck dumb with relief. Santana looked as brilliant as sunlight, and Quinn basked in it as she pulled away. She looked hard — the Latina was dressed in Army fatigues and had an AK-47 strapped to her back. Her hair was a little shorter now, it hung just below her shoulders. To Quinn's relief, she didn't look any thinner. She'd stayed healthy.

"You okay?"

Her voice stuttered out, finally, "Just … I can't believe — "

"I know, right?"

It was a mutual understanding that they were the victims of some strange fate. The end of the world had come and they knew one another. The unlikeliness of it was enough to make it some dreamy fantasy. "I'm so glad to see you," Quinn breathed and held on to Santana's arm. "Even though you're packing heat."

"Gotta. There's a few rogues out there," Santana began to explain as she urged Quinn along. Quinn noticed the tense shaping of Santana's shoulders, her vigilant searching of the cityscape. She'd thought she was a survivor, but Santana was far beyond her caliber. "They'll attack anyone just for the fun of it. There are a few of us surviving groups — five that I know of within a ten mile radius, and there's a bigger group on Manhattan Island that are starting to work on rebuilding and finding ways to produce food. Most of us are civil and cooperative. There's no government, you know, but there doesn't need to be. Just a couple groups are kinda," Santana shrugged her shoulder, "loose in the head. Figure since it's the end of the world it's okay to do whatever."

Quinn nodded along, followed quickly. They were approaching the place she'd found the walkie. "How long has Britt been missing?"

"A couple days. She went out on her own," Santana scowled.

Quinn didn't ask why. It didn't matter why. What mattered is that she was missing.

"Nobody's supposed to go without another person, besides me," Santana continued. Quinn indicated the place she'd found the walkie and watched Santana search for signs that Brittany was okay. "Yes!" An unlikely cheer. Shakingly, Santana was brushing soil away from the foundation of a building. A duck. "She's okay," Santana's eyes filled with tears.

"Taken?"

"Yeah, but we can get her back." Santana seemed filled with a new vigor as she stood. "First, let's get you back to base and get you cleaned up. You smell like a dirty sock."

Quinn laughed — an airy, unfamiliar sound. It felt good to laugh.

###

It got dark by the time they made it back to the base. Santana had lead Quinn through a web of metal pipes, a self-sustained fortress inside an old factory. It was easy to understand why they'd survived. There were so many questions on Quinn's mind, but she didn't have time to ask them. Santana showed her to a secluded area where she could take a hot shower (some kind of engineering magic), and she reveled in the warmth. She'd heard other voices from other parts of the factory, but she didn't hear the one she was listening for.

She was afraid to ask. Afraid that Rachel would die a second time. Quinn had accepted the death of the people she'd known already, she didn't want to get her hopes up. As the blonde took her allotted ten minute shower, she steeled herself for a new chapter. She had found humanity, now it was time to learn how to live, not just survive.

The blonde toweled off, clothed herself in some of Santana's old fatigues. The Latina had actually served in the military, Quinn had been surprised to find out. That's how she and Britt had managed to afford an apartment in Manhattan. The fatigues fit well, and she was happy to have some clean clothes on. She pulled on the warm hoodie Santana had given her to wear as well. Apparently, the group had jobs they did to sustain one another and Santana had given Quinn's clothes to the members who washed clothes and cooked. These would do for now. Quinn laced up her boots and noted how strange it felt not to have the weight of two canteens on her hips or a pack weighing her shoulders down.

Once out of the secluded area, Quinn passed some young and unfamiliar faces, found Santana directing a group of teenagers (baby faces who looked had hard eyes).

"We'll scout here tomorrow. This is where she left the mark, and I'm pretty sure there is a network of tunnels run by some of those red bandits. They could've taken her," Santana's eyes looked hard as well. Quinn imagined Santana was picturing the reasons for Britt's capture.

"Can I help?" The blonde inquired, moved into the light of the fire. Santana eyed her and shook her head, "No, you need to rest a couple days before I can make use of you." Quinn smirked. Who was in charge now? Santana returned the smirk briefly before she returned to business. The Latina indicated another lit area nearby, walled off. "Go get some food. They should have something hot."

Quinn merely nodded, squeezed Santana's shoulder in passing, and felt a returning squeeze of her hand. It was all overwhelming; right now her emotions could only handle so much, but she was aware that she would emotionally crash in a few hours. Her stomach was more demanding, though, and she made her way to what appeared to be the kitchen. Fires were being stoked, two or three people milling around.

"Santana — err, I mean. Razorblade," she didn't know the protocol yet. She'd learn. "She said I could get some food?"

The person she was speaking to turned around and regarded her suspiciously before nodding, "Sit," his voice was small. He couldn't have been older than 12. "I'll get you a bowl. I'm Apollo. You must be new so I'll lay it out for you — you get two rations a day, no more than that. We rarely have fresh meat but we mix protein supplement in with the grains or whatever else we find to cook." As he sat the bowl down, Quinn regarded him with an amused expression, "Two rations." He emphasised the point with two fingers.

"I'm Quinn."

In the corner of the room, a bowl dropped. It clattered loudly and Quinn looked up sharply from her food.

Rachel Berry stood looking as if she'd just been slapped in the face. Her hands were clapped over her mouth and she stared at Quinn the way she would a ghost. Quinn was equally surprised, but she was in too much shock for it to register across her face. Another familiar face. A friend.

"No," Quinn breathed. She didn't know why it meant so much. Maybe she just wanted to know that she wasn't in a world full of strangers. "No, I'm hallucinating," she stood up. Apollo was watching her with a scowl.

"What's your — " he didn't get time to finish the sentence, because Rachel was pushing him out of the way.

Rachel stopped in front of Quinn, equally stunned. Her hands lifted as if to touch Quinn's face, to make her real, but she looked afraid. As if Quinn would crumble to ash, or perhaps she thought her fingers would go right through her.

Quinn swallowed.

"Weird," Apollo grumbled before resuming his duties.

Hazel eyes regarded brown ones. Recognition lingered in both gazes, and Quinn offered a smile. Her voice was suddenly hesitant, but a ghost of the old Quinn Fabray came out when she arched an eyebrow, "I saw your billboard. Slept behind it, actually."

Rachel didn't move, didn't say a word. Again her hands reached up, but this time they did touch Quinn's face. Her hands felt hot, and her fingers grazed the shape of the blonde's face reverently. "You're alive."

Quinn nodded, her own hands hanging awkwardly at her sides. "You too."

"We were stupid, weren't we?"

Confused, the blonde narrowed her gaze slightly.

"I-it just seems so trivial now, all of it. Back at McKinley," Rachel's voice sounded like honey. It was the most wonderful sound Quinn had ever heard. She looked the same, somehow still as innocent, if only a couple years older. Her clothes were a little more normal. Well-worn denim and a ragged t-shirt, long brown hair tied in a ponytail. That face, still as lovely as always. "It was all so childish."

Quinn again nodded her head, and reached to touch Rachel's arm stiffly. Her fingers rested on her elbow for a second. Silence again. How did you greet a ghost? She'd never been very affectionate, even before the world ended.

"I'm going to hug you now," Rachel whispered, and Quinn thought how funny she should warn her. The shorter girl wrapped her arms around Quinn's waist and pressed herself in tightly.

It took a moment for Quinn's arms to respond, but they did. She closed her eyes and held fast to Rachel, surprising even herself at how tightly she embraced the shorter girl. "I guess this means I have to be your friend for real this time," Quinn spoke quietly.

Rachel laughed, a sweet chiming laugh. "I guess so." Her fists curled into the hoodie Quinn wore, and the blonde swore she could hear Rachel sigh into her chest.

**Day 51**

The collaborative effort was absolutely stunning. It was impossible to imagine the scale of how they worked together unless she'd seen it in action. Quinn had awoke to a gentle hand shaking her awake. She'd slept a few paces away from Rachel on a cot, covered in the kinds of blankets you'd find with arctic equipment, but now worked alongside Rachel washing clothing. When Rachel had found out it was Quinn's belongings she was repairing, she had apparently demanded to be the one to take care of it all and it had been stacked neatly beside Quinn's cot when she awoke.

"How did you make it out here? This far from home?" Rachel had been probing her about everything — life after high school, education, past career goals.

"Walked."

"The whole way?"

Quinn nodded. "It didn't seem smart to drive. Gasoline…you know, I didn't know if it would last. I didn't know if there would be enough to get me here."

"It must have taken so long," Rachel stared at Quinn, bordering on gawked.

"Seems like a lifetime."

"Did you go alone? Travel alone? Why New York?"

The Gold Star in the sky. McKinley's savior. The Captain of the Glee Club. That's why. Quinn didn't say any of that, because she didn't fully understand why Rachel had been her motivation, "I'm not sure."

Rachel nodded, seemed to accept the statement as fact.

They worked in silence the rest of the day and waited to hear whether or not Santana's Recon group had found Brittany.

**Day 52 **

It was sometime around three in the evening, already dark, when Santana had arrived with her group. Quinn and Rachel had been eating by the fire, the blonde listening to the drone of conversation and acutely aware of Rachel leaning against her shoulder. Santana had come in, and by the way she was hunched, it was easy to see that they had been met only with disappointment.

Rachel was the first to look up, and Quinn had stood to greet Santana. The girl looked angry — which, if Santana was still the same person she had been, meant she was simultaneously sad. Quinn was afraid of the news.

"Did you find her?" Rachel asked hesitantly.

Santana shook her head. "We will," she assured the group of survivors. "We will." She also assured herself, closed her eyes. She looked tired. Quinn moved forward but Santana waved her off dismissively. "I'm going to get some sleep."

A hand at Quinn's elbow told her not to press the issue. Hazel eyes looked back to find Rachel shaking her head a bit. She sat, despite the urge to go to Santana anyway.

Next to her, Rachel had resumed eating, though her posture was a little more solemn now. The blonde next to her sighed, and suddenly didn't feel hungry at all. While it had been much easier surviving alone, worrying only for herself, she was now in the company of at least two people she cared about.

Rachel was leaning against her slightly, the warmth of her arm pressing against Quinn's. The shorter girl finished her food, placed her bowl at her feet, and sat in silence. Her brown eyes were full of thought, the fire flickering across her strong features. Quinn watched quietly for a moment.

It wasn't long after that she felt the weight of Rachel's head on her shoulder and realized the girl had fallen asleep against her.


	2. Days 55 through 70

**Synopsis: **Some pockets of humanity still remain, and Quinn has found herself among familiar faces in post-apocalyptic New York City. Rubber Duck is still missing, but the Recon group continues to comb the streets for her. It has been 53 days since The Last Day.

**Author's Note: **Holy cow, I seriously wasn't expecting such a huge response. I woke up from a nap this afternoon with 74 emails telling me people had subscribed to the story. Thank you so much, from the bottom of my heart, and I am so glad you're all enjoying it. I still don't know how long this will be. Since the progress moves according to days, it's a little harder to map out. (Also I'll be responding individually via PM to your awesome reviews so as not to take up space in the installments, I hope that's okay. If you guys don't like that, let me know and I'll go back to my old format!)

###

**Day 55**

Santana had finally allowed Quinn to do something other than wash clothing. Although she'd been a little disappointed that she wouldn't be in Rachel's company — to which she'd grown so accustomed in the days she'd been there — she was glad to stretch her legs a little. Having spent over a month travelling every day being cooped up and forced to rest was not something she was particularly fond of.

The morning of day 55 she was stretched out on her cot re-reading her survival manual, when she felt something land on her stomach. The blonde shot up, nearly toppled off the rickety cot, and realized a lightweight vest had been thrown at her. Santana stood in full Army fatigues, hair tied back and AK-47 strapped to her back. She looked worn, aged slightly, and tired. They had all aged so very much. Quinn supposed the apocalypse did that to people. Maybe the stress of survival in an inhospitable world had been the bane of ancient people — she'd read somewhere that often the life-expectancy wasn't more than 50 years old.

They were all 21, almost halfway there. Nobody was older than that, except an elderly gentleman who called himself Oliver and talked about the old days in the Louisiana bayou. They were a long way from the bayou.

"We still haven't found her," Santana's voice sounded ragged, and judging from the bags under her eyes she hadn't slept much at all. Without Brittany she was listless — even her commands around base didn't sound firm. Quinn could see the hope draining from Santana's eyes. "Suit up. This stuff will protect you. We don't have enough ammo to spare or really another weapon, but if you stay behind me then we should be alright."

Quinn nodded, standing and zipping on the lightweight vest and pulling her sweatshirt over it. It seemed silly, dressing like she was going for a stroll in the park — jeans and a hoodie. As if they'd just be going to Central Park. With a bulletproof vest. After the world had ended.

Santana waited silently, but she indicated another presence by looking up. Rachel stood with dry clothes in her arms, big brown eyes looking over Quinn and then Santana. Those soft brown eyes were full of concern, real concern, the kind you knew to have when someone you cared about was going out to possibly die on a rescue mission.

"No," Rachel spoke firmly and shook her head. "No, you can't — " she seemed to disregard Santana's authority as she dropped the clothes and stepped forward. Quinn was taken by surprise when the girl nearly toppled her over, arms firmly wrapped around her waist. The shorter girl was shaking her head, pressing her forehead to Quinn's collarbone.

Santana looked just as confused as Quinn felt, "We need to find Britt."

"Quinn has no military training whatsoever!" Rachel's words burst from her violently, and she let go of Quinn but did not move back in the slightest. Her hand was gripping Quinn's elbow as if to root her to the spot, prevent her from going. "You do! You've trained the others! You told me that we wouldn't put each other in danger — that's why we have ranks, positions, jobs!" Her voice was unnecessarily loud. It was this loudness that made Quinn aware that they never really spoke loudly anymore, the danger of it was like stepping out onto the street and calling for the bandits by name. "You can't risk Quinn! You can't!" Rachel spoke as if she was not there.

"I can handle myself, I got here all on my own, Rachel," Quinn insisted, confused. Santana looked stunned, as if Rachel had not spoken this way to her since they'd banded together to survive. A few straggling members of the Recon group were waiting around the edges of the sleeping area, afraid to interfere in the altercation.

"No! You don't know what they're like, what they could do to you. Brittany went missing but you can't just expect Quinn to risk her life like that."

"What do you expect me to do, Berry?" Santana all but shouted, the muscles in her neck straining as Quinn was shoved backward. "I'm running low on energy and I need someone to watch my back. We need to find her because I can't — " Santana gasped as one would as a fist hit them in the gut, her voice lowering and cracking. It was a desperate sound, and it broke Quinn's heart, " — I can't let her just disappear."

Rachel swallowed visibly, and Quinn felt awkward standing near them as they argued for her safety or risk. Her eyes were still wide and afraid.

"Britt would do it for us," Quinn spoke up for the first time, gently pressing her hand to Santana's shoulder and moving between them. She couldn't understand why Rachel was so insistent. It would get dark fast and they needed to do what they could.

Rachel went silent and nodded, cast her eyes to the ground. Awkwardly, Quinn slipped her arms around the brunette and hugged her.

"Please come back," Rachel whispered against her chest.

Confusedly, Quinn nodded. "Yeah," she tried not to betray the fact that Rachel's reaction was perplexing. They had never been close. Was it perhaps the bond of survivors, a need not to be alone in the world of ghosts?

Rachel detached, but watched Quinn every step of the way.

She noticed no one ever said goodbye. It was too final.

**Day 56 **

They were camped out approximately five miles from base. The Recon group consisted of Santana (Razorblade, as her inferiors called her), Quinn (Tubbers, as they'd picked up on Santana's particular nomenclature), Jupiter, Ulysses, Dean, and a scrappy girl they called Velma. The fire between them crackled, and they all ate silently from the rations of dehydrated meat. They had yet to find any sign of Britt since Santana stumbled upon another graffiti marking inside a warehouse — a duck. The Latina had nearly burst into tears at the sight of it, but none of her inferiors would have noticed it. Only Quinn, with years of experience and intimate knowledge of Santana, could see the tears forming in her eyes. Santana was hard as steel, a tool of survival. Inside, she was still the same. Inside, she was desperately hoping the love of her life was still alive.

It was dark, and Quinn missed the way Rachel hummed while she was scrubbing laundry. Idly, she was humming the complimentary bars she'd composed when she used to hear Rachel sing "Defying Gravity" in her head.

"Whatever happened to Hummel?" Quinn spoke softly, eyes lingering on Santana.

The Latina looked distant, her eyes in some far off nightmare where they would not find Brittany. "Hm?"

"Kurt. I never knew what happened to him after high school."

Santana nodded in acknowledgement, "He lived in New York for a while. He was a waiter at a scene bar and he auditioned with Rachel at a few off-Broadway plays."

Quinn wondered if it was something they just didn't talk about — whether or not anyone was alive.

"It didn't work out for him. He moved to California to pursue an acting career. I think he was living with Puck and Finn last time we talked to him." Santana recounted the memories distantly. It was an entirely different lifetime, a different existence.

They were just kids back then. It seemed all so innocent. Quinn marveled at the hardness of her spirit, the callouses on her hands. A life earned. A life of survival. Somehow it was fulfilling, however fulfilling it was possible to be.

###

Quinn was on watch in the black of night. Embers from the fire were so dim that she strained to see anything. Santana had instructed her to listen. Just listen. The boy named Jupiter was awake with her — back to back is how they sat, covering the most visual area however black it was. His dark skin made Quinn's look like it glowed in the dark.

They heard stirrings distantly in Jupiter's direction, and it happened so suddenly Quinn barely registered the releasing of Jupiter's safety on his gun.

"Don't move!"

It was a gruff voice, unfamiliar and unfriendly. Quinn was on her feet, and an instant afterward Santana was up and the heaviness of her AK-47 was resting near Quinn's arm.

"You kiddies seem a little lost," another voice came from the opposite direction. The shuffling of ground beneath feet indicated to Quinn's inexperienced ears that they were surrounded. "Fresh faces."

"Fresh meat," another voice hissed. Different. Higher-pitched and potentially female.

An answering grunt came near Quinn's face, "Look, another blonde. Just like that tight little thing — " the cold metal of a blade touched Quinn's cheek and all her instincts told her to run.

Santana reacted quicker than Quinn could reasonably register. Shots were fired and the man holding a knife to her face fell to the ground, silenced permanently by a little piece of metal. Quinn was quivering. She felt like a liability, a danger. She couldn't fight. She didn't know how.

Footsteps scattered, but Santana flicked on the light strapped to her vest and illuminated the area. Quinn was amazed at how fast she moved. Santana's arm shot out, and her firm grip twisted the arm of one of the bandits. He was a brick-house, but he whimpered in a small voice and the sickening sound of bones breaking caused Quinn to draw in her breath. Jupiter was standing in front of her, dark muscular figure and dreads all ready for action, protecting her from harm. Santana was still moving. She'd kicked the thug's feet out from under him, swept him to the ground. A knee driven straight into his spine, she grunted as she spoke. "Now," her voice was like a purr, her posture catlike as she stroked the thug's broken arm. "You're going to tell me where you have that blonde your buddy spoke about, and you're going to help me get her."

"Fuck uff — " he cursed through his pain, the wetness of his voice making Quinn's skin crawl. "Fuckin' kids, rats, vermin, infestin' the city and — "

Santana didn't give him a chance. With her free hand she pressed a blade to the base of his spine, "I push this in just a little bit and you're done. Not only will you be unable to move but I'm pretty sure the fucking carrion will eat whatever's left of your miserable blubber."

So this was warfare. This was survival.

"Where — " the blade pressed against him a little more " — is she?" Santana purred, dangerous and seductive.

"Woolworth."

Woolworth was at one time one of the tallest skyscrapers in New York City. A diamond in the skyline. It was a half-day's walk from where they were, according to Jupiter.

Santana rewarded the thug by slamming the butt of her AK-47 into the back of his head. She did not flinch at the brutality, but Quinn did.

**Day 57**

They moved at first light, silent and determined. Quinn felt the scars of survival toughening her skin, hardening her gaze. She was not armed, but Jupiter had been kind enough to show her a few ways to avoid being killed. It was a little bit like Sue Sylvester's warnings about the way humanity would be. She'd always been a believer in the apocalypse, and Quinn hated that she'd been right.

Santana lead them through a maze of rusting vehicles and trees. Roots had grown around cars, encased them like Mother Nature's coffins, like Osiris entrapped in the tree. The world was a vision, collision of nature and man. Man was impermanent, nature was not. Birds did not sing, despite the towering forest amid old skyscrapers and fallen buildings.

They found Woolworth buried inside a giant oak, the gnarled branches squared unnaturally at the sides. There was no indication of human occupation, and Quinn hoped that man had not been lying. She wanted to find Brittany, and she wanted to go back to base. Radio silence was the order — it was too dangerous to call back to base this close to enemy territory.

Santana stopped the Recon team at the side of the building, and disappeared around the front. Quinn didn't like her running off on her own, but her military experience was such that she wasn't likely to let herself get taken as well. It took a minute or so before she returned, having smashed a window in as silently as possible. She ushered the team through and climbed in after. They spread out in formation, predators, a pack. Quinn stayed close behind Jupiter, shadowed his posturing and kept alert.

She was, surprisingly, the first to spot an inconspicuous entrance. Through slats in the floor, light filtered through and there appeared to be a makeshift ladder. She tugged the back of Jupiter's jacket and indicated what she'd seen. Like an amorphous organism, the Recon team slipped down.

Old mattresses and couches, poorly maintained, were spread around a neighboring cubby-hole. The bandits were in there, laughing roughly at something, and Santana nearly gave them away when she saw Britt — she'd dodged forward only to be caught by Velma. The young girl pushed Santana down by the shoulders and slipped in front of her. For survivalists, the bandits had no sense of awareness. There were no guards. Velma opened fire — a little girl with a Glock — and took down three men before the could blink. Efficiently the Recon team followed and Santana took out two more before getting to Britt. She was tied to a wall, wrists bound so tight Quinn could see the harsh marks. She was also unconscious.

Quinn took leave of Jupiter's shadow, moved through the alarmed mob of bandits and with Santana began to cut Brittany loose. Santana was whispering to Brittany despite her unconsciousness.

"Hey Duckie," she murmured sweetly, petted Brittany's hair. The Recon team had eliminated or disabled all of the bandits within a matter of minutes, and efficient killing machine. "Duckie, we got you. I found you, Duckie," Santana cradled Brittany's limp body in her arms, and Quinn supported them both.

She helped Santana lift Brittany through the entrance, and pressed through herself.

The amorphous organism that was Recon moved back through the foreboding city, its leader finally human again as she cradled her lifeline. Quinn trailed nearby, and thought what an amazing thing love was, to survive in such a hostile world.

**Day 60**

It was easier getting home, though they moved only in daylight. It was getting hotter by the day, and the layers of protection they wore seemed unsettled on their shoulders. They arrived just in time for dinner, but Quinn was so tired that she wasn't particularly hungry. She'd gotten her fill of jerky during the day and her mind was foggy with exhaustion. They'd been on the move for four days, and the violence she'd witnessed had taken a heavy toll on her heart. She didn't know if she could adjust to this.

It wasn't until Rachel crashed into her that she remembered she had waited for her. Her arms folded around the girl and Quinn closed her eyes, breathed in the familiar scent. A ghost of lavender. Quinn wondered how Rachel managed to smell so nice without perfume. Her body was tired, and she felt as if she was perhaps leaning too much on Rachel, but the brunette was guiding her to the sleeping area.

She helped Quinn into her cot, and the blonde fell asleep with Rachel clutching her hand, and vaguely recognized that she was mumbling something to the brunette before she passed out.

**Day 61 **

When Quinn awoke, Rachel's cot was moved directly beside hers and the brunette was sleeping soundly facing her. Her hand was hanging limply between their cots as if she'd tried holding on til the very last moment. Quinn could see the first hints of daylight through the holes in the brick wall, and her muscles ached. She wanted to tell Rachel that she didn't like this world, she didn't like seeing people die, nor did she like seeing her best friend killing people and knocking them out with military-issued weapons. She wanted it all to be a dream.

The brunette stirred the second Quinn's cot squeaked, and she sat straight up. "Whu — Quinn, ok?" Her words were choppy. Quinn laughed a little and it sounded again unfamiliar to her. Like an orchestral concert in the middle of Times Square, it was out of place.

"I'm okay," Quinn's voice was cracked, and she realized she was extremely thirsty. She shifted, looked for her canteen, and found it. Grateful for its fullness, she uncapped it and drank so much that she felt full.

Rachel was sleepily watching her, sitting up. "You guys were gone so long," she murmured. What perplexed Quinn was that Rachel did not seem to be as relieved to see Brittany and Santana as she had been to see Quinn. She did not hug Santana nearly so often. Quinn didn't ask why. Quietly, she slipped her hand into Rachel's and closed her eyes. She slept while Rachel stroked her thumb across her palm.

**Day 63**

Santana and Brittany didn't resurface for a few days. The Latina was only in and out of the kitchen to get fresh rags to tend to Brittany's wounds and ask Rachel for medical advice. She wouldn't let anyone near Brittany. She 'didn't want anyone disturbing Duckie.'

Day 63 was also the first day that Quinn heard Rachel sing. She'd been boiling some water for fresh stew (a rare treat — they did their best to keep the more sustainable foods as daily rations instead of having frequent feasts) and the first few lines.

The first few lines of Defying Gravity graced Quinn's ears, and she stopped what she was doing to listen. Every muscle in her body loosened, and she closed her eyes. Unknowingly, she'd begun to hum in her 'tremulous bass alto' the bars she'd come up with to match Rachel's voice. Before she knew it they were singing together, quietly, as if they always had.

The sound of singing was so refreshing that even Apollo stopped scowling to listen to them both. Rachel had moved the cast-iron stew pot nearer to Quinn's fire, placing it over the flames and kneeling before the heat. Quinn glanced down and saw the ghost of that famous Rachel Berry smile. It was a quiet, lopsided smirk.

Quinn noticed the way Rachel's hair still somehow looked soft, shining against the flames, and the way she still trimmed her bangs in an even line. How had she maintained such beauty in such a hostile landscape? She caught herself staring instead of humming now, and Rachel looked up in time to catch her doing so. Quinn offered a silent smile, felt the warmth of something other than fire as they let the gaze linger between them.

It was nice to see Rachel smile. And it was nice to feel herself smiling in return. Whether it was the firelight or the comfort of something more, Quinn felt content for the first time in 63 days.

###

Later that night, when it was dark and only the whispers of a few of the survivors, Quinn felt Rachel's cot shift in the space next to hers. Without looking over, she could feel Rachel's eyes on her. Her own hands were folded over her stomach and she was looking out at the pitch black sky through holes in the roof. She missed the sight of stars and constellations blinking back at her. She wondered if the sky would ever clear.

"What was that you were humming earlier?" Rachel's whisper was hesitant. They kept to their own spaces, but Quinn could feel her warmth like a low-power radiator beside her.

"Something I came up with. I used to hear you singing that song sometimes in my head. You've always been out of my vocal range, but I used to hum background to what I could hear." It sounded crazy in a way, voices in her head. Singing in her head.

"Really?"

Quinn smiled. Rachel sounded like that hopeful girl in high school, the one who'd asked the very same question when Quinn said they were friends. She could still see Rachel then, books clutched in her arms, argyle sweater and a pleated skirt. They both looked young in her memory. "Yes, really."

She'd been travelling to Rachel. She wanted to tell her that. Instead she let Rachel reach over and grasp her hand, press it to her face. She could feel Rachel's eyes close near her hand, could hear the small intake of breath. "I worried that you weren't alive."

It felt nice.

"Do you think we would have … " Quinn didn't know how to ask. "Do you think if the world hadn't ended, we'd be in cots side-by-side?"

Rachel was still clutching her hand tightly. "It doesn't really matter, does it?"

"Why did we fight each other so much?"

"I don't know."

"Me either."

Quinn fell asleep for a second time since the Last Day with Rachel Berry holding her hand, and found herself dreaming of McKinley High's Glee Club at Nationals, only the duet wasn't for Finn and Rachel or herself and Sam. It was Rachel and Quinn, singing "What is This Feeling?" and dancing in spirals around one another like sprites in a Shakespearean play.

**Day 70**

The group of survivors were preparing to take in more people. They'd received radio contact from the colony on Manhattan Island that their rations were running low and they had yet to find untainted soil to begin some form of agriculture.

Santana had reluctantly accepted the proposition to take in 15 new people. That meant less rations for everyone else and the possibility of relocation to a more fertile area eventually. The Latina hadn't been overly happy about it, but Brittany had talked her into it. Always the soft of heart, Duckie was the advocate for welcoming anyone into their ranks. Santana gave in to her every whim, too in love with her and too grateful that she was alive to say no.

It was a scramble, rearranging sleeping places and building or repairing cots. While the building they occupied was very large, it wasn't a good idea to have everyone spread out across an entire building. If they were raided by anyone else, there would be no way to be alerted without significant time lapse in between attack and response time.

Cramped living space was the sacrifice for safety. Quinn was helping Rachel erect a privacy wall for the sleeping area and the changing areas, separated by gender on either side of the sleeping area. There had been no extraneous affection since the 63rd night after the apocalypse. Only exchanged glances. It seemed the survivors had a tendency to pair off, but Quinn had to admit that the more she dwelt on past interaction and her gravitation toward New York, it seemed a little more than survival-bonding.

It didn't take them long to erect the privacy walls, and Rachel clapped her hands together victoriously as she admired their work. She smiled, a little more brightly than normal. "It'll be nice to have more faces around here, new faces."

"Even if it means less food," Santana came strolling in, Brittany's hand laced with her own. "It's a sacrifice but maybe we'll be able to put our heads together and figure out where we might be able to find more resources. The city is a wasteland. We'd be better off finding out if some of the rural areas are more liveable."

"Mass migration," Quinn inquired with an arch of her eyebrow, "It'd be hard to organize — "

"But necessary if we're going to be running low on rations. Apollo says we'll only have another 60 days of rations with the extra population."

Quinn nodded, and Rachel looked between them contemplatively. "It wouldn't be that hard to organize," the diva's voice was soft, and she was toying with the ends of her hair. "The Recon team could act as … security, help keep everyone organized, keep an eye on everyone."

"There's always the danger of bandits," Brittany spoke next, glanced lovingly at Santana as she saw a flicker of pain in her lover's eyes. "We should be able to protect the majority, though. Maybe all of them if we add a little more security."

###

By the day's end, Quinn was tired and sitting by the fire alone. She was staring into the flames as if to divine a future full of hope, fresh meals, and comfortable homes. It seemed so impossible, so far away.

"Can I sit?" Rachel's voice greeted her, and she was standing demurely by the fire's edge. Quinn scoffed.

"You have to ask?"

Rachel gave a lopsided smile and sat hesitantly next to Quinn. Her hands were folded in her lap and Quinn looked over at her, examining her posturing as if to decipher what the cause was for her nervousness. The former diva noticed Quinn watching her and tucked her brown hair behind her ear, ducked her head forward. "When it happened, even before," Rachel began. Her voice was as hesitant as Quinn had ever heard it. She regarded Rachel with curiosity, respectfully watching her hands instead of her face. "I wanted to contact you. I wanted to … clear the air. I wanted us to … I guess, reconnect. I always felt like we could have been — " Rachel hesitated, looked up. Quinn felt her searching her face, felt Rachel's eyes probing, worrying over her features for any sign of what she perceived to be rejection. " — so much more. I guess it's all ridiculous now. Matters like that are so juvenile now. The world, humanity, it's all fallen apart and it seems silly to even consider such problems."

Quinn heard the hopeful tone of her voice and she felt drawn to Rachel's expression like a magnet, felt some form of nerves growing in her stomach. The blonde realized she was fidgeting, and sat on her hands. "It's not completely juvenile. To want to think about normal things. It's comforting, to think that some semblance of normalcy can continue," Quinn spoke softly, stared at her feet.

Rachel was staring at her. She could feel the tension in the air, and without seeing, knew that Rachel's lips were parting hopefully with unspoken words before sucking on itself uncertainly. "I don't know about normalcy but … something akin to it." Rachel murmured. She seemed to be losing her courage.

Quinn didn't move. She didn't know if she wanted this attachment, wanted to voice what had maybe been there all along. She didn't want something to lose. She felt Rachel's hand cover her arm, urging Quinn's hands from beneath her thighs in order to hold her hand in her lap. Quinn stared at their hands for a long time. Could this be enough? Should there be more? Was it ridiculous, seeking out such attachment in a world that would likely take their lives early?

Rachel was waiting for an answer, waiting for the signal, the go-ahead. Quinn didn't know if she could give it to her. She waited a long time for Quinn to say something, but Quinn couldn't tell her she was petrified of getting attached and losing her somehow to this cruel, unfamiliar world. This alien environment.

After a while, Rachel leaned forward, pressed her lips to Quinn's cheek lingeringly, wrapped her arms around her neck. "Goodnight, Quinn." The timbre of sadness hurt Quinn's heart. She let go of Rachel's hand reluctantly as she stood.

Quinn sat beside the fire a long time that night.


	3. Days 71 through 89

**Synopsis: **The survivors from Manhattan Island are soon to arrive; Quinn's learning how to defend herself. Santana and Quinn come up with a plan to find sustainable resources for the small population, and Rachel is not happy about it.

**Author's Note:** You guys are all seriously amazing. The best part about writing is that I get to write things I enjoy (I'm a fan of post-apocalypse theories and fantasies, even though that's really morbid) and you guys seem to like the product that comes from my own peculiarities. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.

**Day 71 **

The survivors from Manhattan Island were making the trek from their encampment to what would stand as their new home. Being composed of 15 civilians, it wasn't going to be the safest trip. Back at base, everyone was preparing to take them in, though already there were grumblings about smaller rations and other various problems that may arise.

It occurred to Quinn the previous night that she would have no way to physically defend herself. Quinn's type of survival wasn't the same as Santana's. She couldn't throw a punch, didn't know how to use a weapon, and wasn't nearly as muscular. Santana was all lean muscle, catlike and swift, while Quinn was just good at survival's basics: run, find food, sleep, travel some more, find water. The blonde was not like others perceived her. However tough on the outside, there was quite a larger measure of softness on the inside that had prevented her from learning how to do what she may have to do in the future: kill someone. This world and her survival would depend on her ability to make the choice to defend herself or die.

That following morning, after a restless sleep and waking up to Rachel's empty cot beside her, Quinn had sought out the boy from the Recon mission and asked him to show her how to use a gun — it was not as intimate as using a knife, she had heard. Jupiter seemed glad to agree.

Quinn spent a large amount of time that day with Jupiter. The boy was not more than 16, but he was buff and his dark Afrikaner skin made Quinn feel like she was the walking dead. He had bright eyes, despite his darkness, and an accent she could quite place. His parents had been immigrants, but like many of the dead they were not mentioned in conversation. By the time the afternoon hit, she was used to the recoil of the Glock he'd let her borrow, and could hit most targets.

The most important lesson, he'd told her, was that nothing would be able to prepare her for shooting a human being. Quinn didn't need him to tell her that, because she was still shaken from the Recon mission and the fact they had killed or disabled an entire group of bandits. The blonde recalled the copper smell of blood every time the weapon fired, and it gave her a sick feeling in her stomach. She swallowed it down, reminded herself that she needed to become just as useful as a tool as the gun she held. Honing her edge, her sharpness, her outward hardness would be the necessary step. Jupiter grew hungry in the afternoon, as did Quinn, so they parted ways in the agreement that they'd repeat lessons tomorrow.

Quinn was evolving herself from a tool of survival to a tool of defense, sharpening the edges of her spirit. This was the world they lived in now, and the reality of it — no matter how biting — was inescapable. Before lunch, Quinn made her way through the emptiest part of their dwelling and looked out at the foreign landscape, the tip of her cigarette burning slow. Inhaling the bitter smoke, the thickness of her tongue drew over her bottom lip. When she'd been travelling, she hadn't had much time to take in the Tolkien-like state of nature now. Whatever had caused the death of humanity had somehow mutated everything else, given it new life and the ability to quite literally engulf the scars humanity had left. It was beautiful, Quinn mused. She dropped ash on the window sill, stared out at the dark green sky. It would be nighttime soon, and though she could not, she tried to squint into the distance and spot the trekking Manhattan Islanders.

Change was breathing into the wind, and Quinn could hear it. The blonde knew something was coming. Vines of fate were tangling themselves around Quinn's life and she could not help but feel the talk of finding new land to live on had something to do with it. Since Brittany's recovery, they had been discussing the possibility of looking into rural areas for settlement. Neo-pioneers. While science-fiction had predicted humanity's ascent into space, it seemed instead that the future consisted of a descent into nature. Having traveled across what was left of the land, Quinn had seen the best and worst of it. Perhaps she could help them decide where to go.

Lost in thought, she did not feel the presence beside her until it yanked the cigarette from her mouth. Rachel stamped out the burning tobacco and Quinn all but snarled, "Hey! That was one of my last ones!"

"And it'll kill you." Rachel stated matter-of-factly, gave Quinn a harsh look. It was the first time she'd seen the brunette that day, and while the irritation simmered that she'd taken away the solace of nicotine, it was nice to see Rachel's face. Her large brown eyes lingered on Quinn, as if she wanted to say something.

Quinn only looked down, listening expectantly and pushing the ashes of her ruined cigarette across the cement floor.

Rachel had moved closer by the smallest noticeable distance, and she rested her hand over Quinn's. When the blonde had the courage to look, she saw Rachel's eyes locked on their hands, following the path her thumb stroked over the back of Quinn's palm. It unsettled Quinn, the way Rachel had the capability to hypnotize her with the simplest contact. She drew in breath, felt it hitch in her throat. She didn't think it was possible to feel butterflies still, but felt them she did.

Still stroking the back of Quinn's hand, Rachel spoke quietly, only loud enough for Quinn to hear, "Santana told me you seemed pretty upset, seeing what had to be done to the bandits."

Quinn shrugged. She couldn't bring herself to look at those earnest eyes again, so instead she settled on the cityscape. "It's do or die now. There's no room for reaction."

"But there is," Rachel insisted, her voice a little louder now. Her fingers had effectively curled around Quinn's hand, and she was standing still. "It's totally normal to feel frightened of the way things are now. Only a few months ago at most we were all living normal lives and — "

"It doesn't do me any good to hold on to the past."

Rachel didn't respond to that. Quinn was grateful for the silence. "You're still human, Quinn."

"Barely."

Her optimism had dulled.

**Day 72 **

News had arrived that the Manhattan Islanders would be arriving the following day. Quinn could hear change in the wind, like a chant pulsing through the air. She woke up with Rachel's cot next to her own that morning, but it was empty once more. Part of her wanted to go find the girl, but she knew Jupiter would be waiting for her. So Quinn made her way to her lessons, humming a few bars from Rachel's favorite musical. Maybe she was still a little bit human, somewhere inside.

###

Rachel found her at lunch, sitting alone by one of the cooking fires. Quinn had been trying to recall the landscape she'd traveled through on her way here, again lost in thought and ambushed by the girl. As with before, Rachel didn't say anything. She sat next to Quinn, and stared.

"You know, the leering is getting a little weird when you don't say anything," Quinn had a ghost of a smirk on her lips, and her hazel eyes found an expectant pair of brown staring back at her.

Rachel blushed and smiled, "Sorry. Sometimes I can't .. before you got here I thought you were … " The brunette seemed unable the finish the sentence.

Quinn knew what Rachel had thought. She'd thought the very same. "It took the world ending for Rachel Berry to be speechless." The amusement was much-needed, and Quinn laughed a little to herself.

Rachel's smile grew. "It's so good to hear you laugh. I missed that," and suddenly Rachel looked as if she'd said something wrong, and looked down at her own lap. Her hands were tangled there, fidgeting. Quinn noticed but didn't say anything.

"You became famous and somehow still thought about the little people?"

"Besides Santana and Brittany, it was just you."

Quinn didn't know what to say. The tone Rachel had spoken in was so sincere that she felt her heart quiver a little in her chest. A nervous swallow, and she closed her eyes. Maybe it was just the end of the world getting to Rachel. They'd hated each other. She just wanted someone to hold on to, that was all. For some reason, that belief saddened Quinn. "Rach — " she began to speak, wanted to say that she knew Rachel was just saying that because she had a very human need for companionship, wanted to say that Rachel had never really felt that way and Quinn couldn't attach and then lose someone. She'd lost too much.

Quinn fell silent, eyes cast upward as Rachel moved. Rachel silenced her not with anything theatrical — no silver-screen kiss, no tears. She simply stood, squeezed Quinn's shoulder, and left the room. Quinn didn't see her the rest of that day.

**Day 73 **

When the survivors arrived, their number seemed much more than 15. Quinn had been assigned to guiding them safely in, and Santana was standing beside her. The Latina, while still an efficient military tool, seemed softer and happier now that Brittany was back. They both watched the arrival with trepidation. This would change things.

"I've been talking to the team. Velma, she's this genius-kid, you know. She thinks we're going to need to move before our resources run out. Less than a month," Santana sounded unhappy about this, and Quinn didn't blame her. They had all settled in and been settled for so long that leaving this place would be dangerous, a risk to the safety of many. They would have no other choice. In the rubble of New York City there would not be any land, food, anything sustainable for a small population of people. "She's working out a list of duties for everyone while we travel, even the new people. The problem is — "

"We're going to have to watch out for bandits, and watch our backs for any loose cannons in the new group," Quinn surmised.

Santana nodded. They'd both apparently given this some thought. The unit of people, civilians included, that Santana was in charge of operated much like a family, a pack. They could trust one another with their lives. There was no worry about stolen rations or outbreaks of violence, but with this new group there would be people they did not know. People who weren't a part of this 'family' yet. Santana was worried, rightfully so.

The blonde let a comforting hand rest on Santana's back, and watched the last of the group file in, unaware that they were being watched, their faces memorized in case they needed to be taken care of. Such was the game of survival in this world.

###

Later that night, there was a low drone of conversation around the new fires. A clear divide separated the two groups, with very few people mixing company initially. Santana, Brittany, Quinn, and Rachel all settled around one of the larger fires. Quinn could hear Jupiter telling some off-color joke a few paces away at another fire, and she could remember how she craved conversation when she'd been traveling alone. Against all odds, she'd found not only survivors, but familiar faces. She had not stopped being thankful, despite her moments of doubt, and it was easy to be optimistic around the warmth of a fire.

The girl named Velma joined them, a lean young girl with dark eyes and short hair. Santana was drawn into planning with her, and Quinn could just hear their conversation.

"I know the land pretty well, toward the West. When I was traveling," Quinn informed them, and she was vaguely aware of everyone's eyes on her — at least around their particular fire. "I could help scout out some land. We should send out a patrol group, find the place before we have everyone travel. It would be safer that way."

Rachel looked horrified. "Go out there?"

"One would assume," Santana gave the shorter girl a look, sighed at Rachel the way one would impatiently at a sister or a cousin. "I think it's a great idea, I don't know why we didn't come up with it before."

Velma had a bit of a croaky voice, "The Recon team, minus you, Razorblade. We can't have the family or the new arrivals here alone without leadership."

"And Quinn," Brittany added. "It was her idea."

As most nodded in agreement, Rachel shoved up from her position beside the fire, "I love how we're just throwing each other out to the wolves now. 'Cause we haven't lost enough already, let's just sacrifice the people we have left," her tone was surprisingly bitter. It was a diva storm-out, but somehow just a little bit more aggressive.

Quinn didn't understand her reaction. Perhaps she could have, had she allowed herself a little more room for the softness of emotion, but survival had sharpened any of her soft edges.

Santana rolled her eyes, "It amazes me that even the apocalypse didn't change her little tantrums."

Quinn laughed a little, sighed.

"You should go after her. She'll be upset a while," Brittany spoke, gently poked at Quinn's arm.

"Why me?"

Santana was the next to answer, "Because she's only upset that you're going out there. She's got tunnel-vision, Tubbers."

It took Quinn a moment to stand, mostly because she didn't quite get why Rachel was persistently upset whenever this same topic came about. Any moment she thought Quinn would be in danger, she became moody and temperamental. A part of her was glad that they had not lost the old Rachel in the apocalypse, but another part was afraid it was that tunnel-vision that would put Rachel in danger.

And for some reason, that bothered her.

The blonde stood after some thought, moved into the darker parts of the building. She found Rachel in the sleeping area, sitting on her cot. Quinn couldn't see very well in the darkness, but she heard Rachel sniffling.

"Rachel?"

"Of course they'd send you," Rachel murmured. "To convince me that any of this is a good idea."

Quinn moved forward, catching her silhouette and sitting down next to Rachel, the weight of them both causing the cot to squeak slightly. "I don't understand."

"What?"

"I don't understand," Quinn repeated.

Impatiently, Rachel huffed, "Yes, I heard that. What don't you understand?"

"Why you're so afraid of me going out there? What about Santana? She goes out there nearly every day, to scout for food or whatever," Quinn glanced over. She fished her lighter out of her pocket and lit one of the thick waxy candles on the floor, set it near the cot. The area illuminated slightly, and allowed Quinn to read Rachel's reactions.

Rachel wouldn't look at her. "I thought you were dead once, Quinn," she mumbled.

"And?"

"It nearly killed me."

Quinn felt confused. "What?"

"Why do you think Santana even found me? I didn't even know where she was after it happened, I didn't know where any of them were. Everyone was dead, everyone, and all of a sudden I remembered that you were back in Lima all alone.

"I'd been thinking about contacting you for so long, but I never had the courage. And when I thought I'd lost the chance forever, I didn't care what happened to me. It took me a week to leave my apartment building, and by then it was already dangerous out there. There were so many bodies everywhere, slumped over in cars …

"I got taken by these thugs when I left the building. They were already living lawlessly and I was just some random piece of meat." Quinn felt her heart boil over with anger at this, fill with sadness, but Rachel continued, "Santana had started to pull survivors together and was scouting out the building I was in. When she finally found me, she couldn't believe it was actually me since we'd lost contact the year I made it on Broadway. I thought somehow if I was seeing her, then … well I guess I thought maybe you'd be somewhere that I could find you.

"So I left one night, started to leave the city. Santana had caught me on the outskirts the next day, sick from dehydration and exposure. Something about the environment now, and I didn't know anything about staying alive. I kept telling her I was going to find you. I was sick for a week, sick with something, and eventually it went away. It was all right then because I figured I was smarter this time. I packed up, but Santana wouldn't let me leave. For the next couple weeks I tried to escape nearly every night."

Quinn couldn't believe her ears. All the days that Quinn had been traveling, nearly mirroring Rachel's attempts to escape, the diva had been pushing toward her as well.

"When you arrived," Rachel seemed lost in the story, in the memory, "I'd finally given up, finally stopped trying to escape. I'd given up on getting to you. I don't know why it was so … devastating. I just … we did it all wrong in high school, got everything wrong and I felt like I had to fix it and never got the chance." The brunette had tears in her eyes, her eyebrows knitted together as she stared at the flickering candle at their feet. "And then you showed up, like some … walking miracle, like a ghost."

What had been pushing them together? Quinn was a sharpened sword, a cold heart. All through high school that's what she'd been — now she was just a much more mature version of that self. The end of the world ensured that she was as cold as steel, or she tried to be. Yet here was all the warmth of humanity sitting beside her, illuminated by candle-light like some vision of Mother Theresa, some angel come to show Quinn how to not only survive, but to live again. She drew in breath through her teeth, half-expectant of Rachel's continued monologue.

"I felt … so many things," Rachel shook her head minutely, and her full lips had broken into a tearful smile. Quinn remembered the way Rachel looked when she realized it was her old high school enemy who had walked into the kitchen, walked out of the land of the dead into the land of the living. "Relieved, scared, happy … " It was at this point Rachel seemed to lose her train of thought, seemed to lose the purpose of her speech. She went silent for a long few minutes, closed her eyes. Quinn waited. "I am petrified to watch you die, to watch you leave this building knowing you may never come back."

Quinn wanted to ask 'why me?' The words were heavy on her tongue and she saw the way Rachel's brows were knitted together in concentration, the way she bit her bottom lip as if to keep more words or perhaps the beginnings of sobs from coming out. The blonde could not find her voice. Would she care as much if Rachel walked out that door? If the roles were reversed? She imagined she must have looked like hell the day she'd returned. She was a scorched soul, a weapon forged from the rawness of survival.

"It started before that," Rachel breathed. "I just never found the courage in high school. To make things right between us, to be honest. I just wanted to be … " she did not finish that sentence. She glanced over at Quinn finally, brown eyes large and shining in the dark. Quinn felt a tightness in her chest at the intense way in which Rachel watched her.

"You wanted to be what, Rachel?" Quinn whispered, felt the beginnings of a nervous flutter deep down. She knew she was petrified of the answer.

Rachel shook her head, refused to answer. Those deep brown eyes, which Quinn had grown to crave, were cast at the floor again. "It doesn't matter," it was so dismissive. Rachel was denying herself something. "I just don't want you to go. What if you don't come back?"

Hazel eyes stared at the flame between their feet. "I will."

"You can't promise that."

Quinn couldn't promise that. In fact, she really didn't know why it mattered so damn much. She told herself it mattered to Rachel, but really … the thought of Rachel waiting here for her. It was the warmest feeling in the world. It flowered like the sunrises used to before the world ended, spread all the way to Quinn's fingertips. "Okay, I can't," she spoke quietly. Between them, the words were hushed and intimate though they were too scared to look at each other for fear they would only remember the sight of one another's saddest expressions when Quinn left. "I just … I know the land. I traveled through it to get here," to Rachel, but Quinn could not tell her that, "so I can be the one to lead them somewhere safe. Somewhere … a place we can all start over."

"There is no starting over. The world is still ending." A surprisingly pessimistic statement coming from Rachel.

Quinn sighed. She shifted on the cot, took Rachel by the shoulders and forced the brunette's gaze to match her own. "Rachel, just because I leave it doesn't mean I won't come back." The blonde squeezed Rachel's shoulders, guided her hands down those small arms. The warmth of them radiated, and Quinn thought how marvelous Rachel's skin would still be so soft.

Rachel looked as if she were going to cry, nodded quietly.

Quinn relented when Rachel embraced her, buried herself into Quinn's lean arms. The ferocity with which Rachel clung to her quite literally took Quinn's breath from her. She wrapped her arms around Rachel in return and rocked the brunette simply.

"You must come back," Rachel urged softly against Quinn's collarbone.

When Quinn closed her eyes, she could remember it all. The looks they shared in high school, the way Rachel would look at her so eagerly every time they spoke, the duet they'd shared and how the air was electric between them after that.

—-

"_Rachel!" Quinn dashed after Rachel down the empty hallway. The diva had run out of the choir room after their I Feel Pretty/Unpretty mash-up, face reddened with tears. "Hey! Berry! Jesus Christ, Rachel, stop!" She'd gripped Rachel's shoulder, only to be met with Rachel flying into her arms and clinging for dear life._

_The blonde had never heard someone cry so hard. Rachel cried against her for a good twenty minutes before she convinced the diva to at least let her take her into the bathroom so she could wash her face. Rachel had been too emotional to do anything but stand there. Quinn had delicately cupped warm water in her hands until they were damp, and gently washed the redness from Rachel's face, minding the bandage across the bridge of her nose. The blonde marveled at how soft Rachel's skin was, how warm, and felt surprise at the way Rachel closed her eyes and let Quinn ever so gently wash the mark of each tear from her face. Quinn had never been so gentle with anyone in her life. Rachel, at one point, opened her eyes and watched Quinn's reverent gaze as she dabbed warm water from her face._

"_Better?"_

_Rachel nodded. Quinn felt that gaze bearing into her, pressing inside her heart. The brunette hesitated, stepped forward, and wrapped her arms around Quinn's waist. The ex-Cheerio delicately stroked Rachel's hair, and thought how nice it felt to lock herself in an embrace._

—-

A ghost of their old selves lingered in Quinn's mind, and she found herself stroking Rachel's hair in much the same way she had a lifetime ago. Even back then, the brunette had been so desiring of Quinn's affections. Maybe it wasn't the end of the world making Rachel cling to Quinn in such a matter. Maybe it was something else entirely.

"Remember that duet we sang?" The blonde was the first to speak, her voice soft. She could feel her lips so near Rachel's ear, could tell it caused Rachel's fingers to curl tighter into her shirt. A whispered 'yes' breezed near Quinn's collarbone. "You were really distraught after that, but you never told me why."

Rachel didn't pull away, at least not very much. Her fingers had begun to stroke Quinn's shoulder blades, move along the curve of them. "For the first time since I'd known you, you'd looked at me as if I was beautiful. And I felt like you were telling me you wanted me to be exactly the person I was."

"And that was bad?"

Rachel pulled away, aghast. At least that had gotten her out of her emotional state, "No! I felt so happy I didn't know how to react. I didn't know how I could ever … have considered changing myself. I never expected you to be the person who told me to keep being myself. And then you chased after me. I didn't think you would."

Maybe she'd been chasing after her all this time. Maybe that's why she was here, now. Quinn felt like just perhaps she'd been chasing Rachel all this time, in small ways. "You were — are — beautiful, Rach," Quinn found herself speaking before she could really weigh what she was saying. "And you didn't care what people thought about you, you had faith in yourself. Something I could've never had. It took the apocalypse to give me faith in myself," she explained this as if she had always known, but the truth is she was just realizing it.

Rachel was blushing, but Quinn didn't ask why. It was at this point Quinn realized how close they were sitting, how near their faces.

"Have faith in me too, okay, Berry? I have to help Velma and the team scout out land, or we'll run out of food. Things will get bad very fast," back to point A, far from the past. Back to reality.

"Rachel," Rachel pressed softly, toyed with the hem of Quinn's sleeve. "I like it better when you call me Rachel." Her voice was quiet, timid.

The blonde smiled, stroked some brown hair behind the shorter girl's ear. "Rachel." It was soft, some might have even called it loving, the way the name flowed between Quinn's lips. The name was like a prayer, a thank you, maybe even a song. The blonde caught Rachel's hand as it toyed with her sleeve and held it still, soaking up every bit of warmth. Rachel watched her with shining, reverent eyes.

As she was falling asleep later that night, Rachel sleeping soundly just nearby, Quinn replayed each and every sensation of embracing the brunette. She tried to capture the memory of it so she'd fight that much harder to return.

**Day 75**

As Quinn laced up her boots and got ready to join the scouting party, she heard Rachel's voice in her head. From long ago, singing the song she'd written a lifetime ago, "Get It Right." Back then, Quinn had felt her entire being humming with recognition at the sound of that voice. She remembered being bothered that Rachel had continued to foil the plans she had. The blonde had never wanted Finn for herself — she'd just been trying to keep him away from Rachel. Rachel had deserved a better life than Finn would ever give her.

The blonde wasn't sure why thoughts of the past had been leaking in lately. It had quite literally been years since they all graduated high school and moved on with their lives. In the back of her mind, Quinn was beginning to realize she'd never fully let Rachel go.

She must have been humming, because Rachel's voice greeted her, "Is that my song?"

Quinn felt caught, and glanced up. She tried to play it off and placed her Glock into its holster. Buttoning up the lightweight protective vest and gathering her other things, she merely arched an eyebrow, "Spying on me?"

Rachel shook her head. "I … uhm … for you." Timidly, Rachel stepped forward and her fingers brushed over Quinn's guided them open. Quinn felt her insides quiver at the contact of fingertips, and the very light weight of something in her hand. "Your battery is dead, or at least it was when I checked it. So I managed to replace it with the help of Apollo. He's really very good with electronics even though he's sequestered to kitchen duty."

It was Quinn's iPod, ready to go. Though she wouldn't be able to use it too often, it would be nice to fall asleep to the songs she had on there. It was a collection of music from various genres, but in one hidden playlist, was a mix of Rachel Berry originals. They'd all been released during Rachel's tour on Broadway, and there were some nights Quinn would listen to the songs with her eyes closed, trying to imagine Rachel's life. The blonde now feared that her sense of comfort and normalcy would be dangerous for life in this unfriendly planet. Rachel was staring at the floor, and just about to turn around, when Quinn spoke.

"Thank you," Quinn breathed. "You don't know how much I miss listening to music," she admitted, tucking the iPod carefully inside her vest.

Rachel smiled, nodded, "I do." They met gazes. Rachel's brows knitted, and her feminine fingers found Quinn's for a second, stared at their touching fingertips. It felt like electricity. "Please return safely," Rachel refused to look at Quinn. The blonde could figure out why — Rachel was too afraid to watch Quinn go. "Take care of Brittany, too."

Quinn only nodded. She absorbed these last few moments of normalcy, felt Rachel's fingertips brushing over her own. She chewed on her lip thoughtfully, then stepped forward. Rachel's hesitancy to say goodbye be damned — Quinn wanted to do this the right way. The blonde wrapped her arms tightly around Rachel, almost enough to lift her off the ground, and hugged her. Rachel's embraces were renewing, warming. Hazel eyes closed as she breathed in the phantom scent of vanilla and lilacs. Always something different, always something heavenly.

Rachel seemed surprised at the sudden embrace, because her arms hesitated at Quinn's side before the blonde felt fingers clutching almost painfully at her shoulders.

"I don't understand you," Quinn admitted, "maybe I'm dumber than I look."

"Maybe," Rachel whispered.

Quinn suddenly felt like crying. She didn't want to leave Rachel. The brunette didn't help.

"Please don't go," she pleaded one last time.

Quinn had to, and she did. She reluctantly let Rachel go, and felt Rachel clinging fiercely to her hand until the very last second. She watched Rachel's face duck into her hands, and didn't have to be within earshot to know that Rachel was crying.

"Don't worry, it's not goodbye," Brittany assured her quietly, and Quinn felt the taller girl join her side as they followed the scouting team out of the building. "I'll make sure of it."

"Me too," Jupiter grinned his bright smile, and nudged Quinn.

It did not lift the heaviness from her heart. As they made their way out of the building and prepared to face a dangerous world, Quinn steeled herself and prayed to whatever gods still existed that this was not the last day she would see Rachel Berry.

Rachel's death-grip on her shoulders had lingered like a ghost, even after base lay miles behind them in darkness.

**Day 76 **

It was dark, the further they got out in the city. The growth of flora was nearly unbelievable. Buildings were all but engulfed, some trunks spotted with what appeared to be car fenders and stop signs, as if they were already embedded, consumed by nature. The city was ominous in the dark, but Velma had insisted on making good time. Luckily they were all trained and armed to some extent.

Quinn's expertise came in handy. While traveling she had memorized landmarks, her mind a veritable world map of the area she had traveled through. The blonde guided them to the very outskirts of the city and as they began to set up camp (no fires, it would expose them), she examined the area just to double-check whether or not they had made it to the destination she and Velma had plotted out.

Brittany startled her a little bit as the taller girl placed a hand on her shoulder, "Hey."

"Hi," it was a soft exchange, but as they met eyes and Quinn squeezed Brittany's hand, it was a mutual understanding that they found comfort in one another's presence. They had both left loved ones behind at base, and wanted to go back to them. No matter how they desired such a thing, they had work to do.

"Tired," Brittany commented simply.

"Me too."

Tired of fighting for survival. Tired of a world that no longer considered them a natural organism. Yet this was their lot, and bear it they would.

Quinn didn't have to take watch that night, and she was glad for it. With only one ear-bud in, she listened to Rachel's voice on her iPod. The other ear listened for intruders, Glock pressing into her hip, a rude reminder of the world they lived in now.

Day 80

Exhaustion had overtaken much of the team. They moved less each day, but luckily for them they had arrived within a five mile radius of the second location Quinn thought they might be able to settle. At night they would gather around the fire, eat dry bread, and talk about what they imagined their food was. Now that they were out of city limits, they could risk having a fire. Bandits were scarce out here; humans tended to gather where they thought there would have been more people. Rural country was ghostlike, now a network of tree-roots, swampland, and higher ground overrun by once-tame livestock.

"Vegan cookies," Quinn commented. "I'm imagining this is a vegan cookie." She smiled as Jupiter recoiled.

"Steak. A big steak."

Quinn laughed ever so softly. "You've never had a vegan cookie made by Rachel Berry," she grinned. The first real smile in a few days. She'd been thinking about Rachel a lot. The gritty existence they shared was lightened by these moments.

Outside the reach of firelight, ghostly howls serenaded the group. "They are really good, actually. You can't even tell they're not real," Brittany commented.

Again, Quinn laughed. Her hazel eyes shined.

It was easier that night, while she was sitting on watch. She and Jupiter sat in silence, back to back, eyes scanning the strange landscape and searching for any sign of trouble. As Quinn dug her heel into the tree root on which they sat, perched like mice, she felt herself evolving in spirit. It was possible, she thought, to be a tool of survival and somehow still be happy.

They might eventually begin to enjoy the world the way it was, perhaps in some distant future. For now, she just wanted to find a location and hurry back to the city, where one Rachel Berry was waiting for her.

Day 81

They canvassed the land in teams. Quinn knelt down and felt the soil, the strange spongy texture of it, and glanced around. She and Jupiter were amid the protection of a natural band-shell of rock, land, and root. It was large enough to house smaller structures — perhaps 3 to a structure — with land to spare. They didn't know what kinds of foods could be grown, but on their way to this section, she and Jupiter had spotted a herd of feral cows. Rural New York had not failed them.

The sun was hot; it burned against Quinn's back through the darkness of polluted clouds — but one thing Quinn noticed was that the clouds were not nearly as discolored as they were nearly 40 days ago. The environment was adjusting, maintaining a state of homeostasis.

"I think this is it," she spoke from the height of a tree branch, and she climbed down carefully, hitching a hook into the trunk of the tree. It was about a 30-foot fall, and she didn't feel like breaking her back when they'd just found a suitable environment in which to settle. "I think we found it."

Jupiter's smile announced his agreement.

Quinn called on the walkie; two miles on each side were the other teams, also searching the land. No one had called in yet. "Tubbers to Duckie. Over."

"Duckie here. Over."

"You'll be happy to know," Quinn smiled at the sound of Brittany's voice, "we found a home. Over."

Velma's voice answered this time, "I think I speak for all of us when I say 'hell yes.'" Brittany chimed, "Over." The girl enjoyed the military procedures for calling one another over the walkies. Quinn chuckled.

She'd almost forgot what it felt like to have hope for the future.

**Day 84**

It seemed to take them much less time to get within city limits. They had suffered no casualty, but even on the heels of celebration they ran into trouble the moment they hit Times Square. They knew the city like the back of their hand, but their joy made them careless.

A bandit in black aimed from some collapsed scaffolding, and Quinn didn't feel the bullet. It hit her in the back of the calf, just missing her hamstring, and her leg gave out before she did. It wasn't until her blood colored the ash that she realized she'd been shot.

The blonde wheeled around from her position on the ground, aimed her Glock, and fired. The bullet missed her target and gave her enough time to realize that she was aiming at a human being. Just as Jupiter had warned, nothing could prepare her for taking the life of a person. A second shot fired, from where Quinn did not know. She had hesitated a second too long, the kickback jarring her shoulder hard.

Luckily, the shot had come from beside her. Brittany had taken aim at the bandit and fired, successfully eliminated him. Simultaneously Quinn felt everything slow down. Behind her, someone brought down the butt of a gun against her shoulder. Quinn cried out in surprise, but this time she did not hesitate.

On a bum leg, she stood, aimed, and fired. The bullet caught the bandit by surprise, barreled through the center of his chest; her attacker fell and Quinn watched as the life slipped from his eyes. It horrified her.

There was no time to linger on the horror of it. Quinn aimed another shot at Brittany's attacker. Each shot became more efficient and horrified her a little less.

Aside from Quinn's calf, there were no casualties. They were, however, much more careful and militant. The joy of finding a place for settlement was replaced with the reality of danger, the primordial edge of fear silencing their false-comforts.

**Day 87**

Quinn was eager to get to base. They were only a half-day's walk from base and everyone was tired. The momentary renewal of energy from finding a place to start fresh didn't last them long. The team had started out early that morning, spread out like ants among the cracks. They were silent, quick, and efficient in covering the area and moving securely through it.

Arriving at base was a little dreamlike. Quinn was limping as they came to the main floor, and everyone split off into sleeping quarters at the late hour. Only a few people were scattered around the fires, waiting for the arrival of the scouting party. Quinn's muscles ached, her wound hurt, and she was the last to come into sight. The pack on her back was heavier than she remembered it, and she dropped it to the floor next to one of the fires. Brittany had already found Santana and was sitting next to her at the fire, her equipment already discarded to the side.

Quinn was in the midst of setting her protective vest down next to her pack when she heard the pattering of hurried feet. Rachel flew out of nowhere, and Quinn almost fell over as the weight of Rachel flew into her arms. The brunette's arms locked securely around Quinn's neck, the taller girl forgot momentarily about the shooting pains going up her right calf from the bullet wound. She emitted no sound, only breathed Rachel in.

"I missed you. I was starting to get worried. It's been over a week," Rachel was quivering in the taller girl's arms.

Quinn couldn't speak. Her fingers dug into Rachel's waist, held fast to her. "God," was all she could breathe out. She was starting to believe in miracles.

Rachel didn't ask if they found a settlement, if anyone else had failed to make it back. She didn't say anything at all after her initial tumbling of words. She only hugged herself closer to Quinn.

The blonde felt hot tears burning her own eyes and she breathed a sigh of relief. "Rach?"

After moments of a tight, intimate embrace, Rachel responded, "Hmm?"

"Can you get down? I'm wounded," Quinn breathed as a sharp pain traveled all the way up through her thigh.

"Quinn!" Rachel's tone was almost accusatory but she immediately looked Quinn over with concern knitting her brows. It was not an obvious wound, but Quinn was standing much more gingerly on her right foot.

"Right calf. Bullet wound, in the back."

"Has it been cleaned? Never mind. Come on." Rachel looped an arm around Quinn from the right side and supported her weight. Even in the harsh reality of their world, Rachel was still the same person Quinn had always known.

**Day 88**

It took Quinn a day to get used to being back at base. Warm food in her belly, she was sitting on her cot re-reading her survival manual when she felt the presence of another person near her. Rachel's cot was pushed up inches closer to her own, and Quinn had a sneaking suspicion that Rachel had been sleeping not in her own cot but in Quinn's while they'd been gone. Rachel's cot was stiff, but the fabric of Quinn's was still well-worn the previous night, as if someone had been sleeping in it.

It comforted Quinn to know that someone had been awaiting her return. It was Rachel standing next to her now.

"You're leering," Quinn smirked softly. Strangely, she had not been hardened by the 12 day journey. She'd been softened, somehow made more human than before. Quinn had killed three people on their return to the city, but somehow she was still human. This was a fact she cherished. Their lost lives were in the recesses of her mind, but she would not tell Rachel what she'd had to do to survive. She also did not tell Rachel that she'd nearly been shot dead herself, if it had not been for Brittany. The blonde looked over with an amused grin on her face.

Rachel only responded with a quiet smile, pushed her brown hair behind her ear. "How's your leg?"

"Better. Sore, but better."

Rachel sat next to her, stared for a moment at Quinn's calf, and then searched the blonde's face for something. Quinn couldn't tell what.

She was surprised to feel the warmth of the shorter girl's fingers lacing between her own. Quietly, Rachel rested her head on Quinn's shoulder.

Quinn's smile grew, and she sat there, holding Rachel's hand. Post-apocalypse or not, there were still small pleasures in the world.

**Day 89**

Buzz had gone around base that they would be leaving within a week, all of them, in order to make it to the new settlement that had been found. There would be much preparation to do, but Santana had declared a day of rest for everyone. Some people played dice in the corners of the buildings, others cards, and Quinn was glad to see that the two groups had begun to mix while they'd been away. There didn't seem to be any open hostilities, which had been Santana's main concern before they'd left.

Quinn walked around, limping slightly, watching some people play games. Jupiter tried to convince her to play a game of chess, but she'd laughed and declined. She'd heard he was the best on the base, and she wasn't about to put her wits against him.

Rachel hadn't been anywhere to be found that morning when Quinn awoke, though she'd fallen asleep after pushing her cot directly next to Rachel's. Listening to Rachel's breathing had been calming enough to lull Quinn into a deep sleep — and for the first time, pleasant dreams. Though a nightmare or two had been sprinkled in there — men covered in blood, demanding revenge.

Quinn did not want to be a bringer of death. She only wanted to live.

She'd been going in between states of contentment and sadness throughout the day. Though she'd asked Apollo where Rachel was, he had only shrugged his shoulders and continued peppering the meat slopped across the counter.

It was not until later that she found Rachel. Or rather, Rachel found her knelt beside her cot. Quinn had been fishing for a cigarette and Rachel cleared her throat.

"If you're looking for your stash, you won't find them," always the air of supremacy. Quinn sighed in response to the news.

"Rachel, you can't keep taking them because you think — " Quinn stood, turned around, and was struck speechless.

Rachel was dressed in, well, a dress. It was simple and black. "It's kind of stupid, I know. It's not like I can ever wear it. It's from … before," Rachel's eyes cast themselves to the ground and Quinn only gaped. "I just figured it's my last chance to wear it. It took me a while to find it. Santana had it in storage with some of her stuff."

Dark brown hair spilled in waves over Rachel's shoulders, black flats complimenting the dress. A white ribbon was tied around her waist, accentuating the small curve of her hips. "You look," Quinn had no words, "wow." She felt about as stupid as Finn Hudson used to look.

Rachel blushed under the attention, and she took a breath. "It's not stupid?"

"Not at all."

Rachel looked beautiful. Quinn couldn't take her eyes off her. It was almost as if they were in high school again — only for a second, because Quinn was well-aware they were adults now and fighting for survival every day. "Good," Rachel smiled with a secret knowing, and gently opened her hand. "Come with me?"

Quinn nodded simply, trailed along behind Rachel with the warmth of their hands laced together.

"Since we both have time to relax today, I just … wanted to spend time with you," Rachel murmured softly. Somewhere in another corner of the building, Quinn saw that Rachel had spent all day setting up a private area for them. She'd even set some of the privacy screens around, as if to sequester them. "Talk to you, if you'll listen."

Quinn nodded, "Did you do all of this?"

"I know it's … a little ridiculous. The world's falling apart and I'm still trying to chase these little fantasies," Rachel motioned to the chair and table. A small meal was set out for them, and an empty vase - there were really no flowers to pick. "I just wanted us to have something normal for a day, before we leave here."

It was a little silly, but at the very same time, Quinn couldn't help but be amazed at Rachel's capability of creating a very human world out of a world that was very inhuman these days. The blonde touched the top of the table, smiled a little privately, "I think it's wonderful. Why just us?"

Rachel seemed to shift uncomfortably at this question. "We've been … dancing around something for a very long time, Quinn. Even before all this," she indicated the world outside the window, a world overtaken and void of human life but very alive.

Fear and anticipation built up in Quinn's system now began to flutter in her stomach. She sat down slowly, looked at Rachel as she approached.

"And I don't want something to happen to me, or you, without … you knowing." Rachel's voice had softened so that Quinn gulped nervously.

Her face flushed hot, she could think of nothing to say, "You really do look nice."

Rachel laughed softly; it was that sweet, chiming sound, and it put Quinn at ease. She reached her hands up, touched Quinn's face.

"I'm nervous."

"I've loved you for so long," Rachel whispered the words, and Quinn almost felt she was dreaming them. That was it. The confession. The thing they had never said. "We never got it right, but we can, I think."

Strangely, Quinn didn't feel speechless or motionless like she thought she might. Part of her expected this moment to come. She reached up, grasped the hand touching her face, and pressed Rachel's palm to her lips. She would not let thought ruin this. She would not let her worries ruin this moment. This moment was theirs. She kissed the palm again and stood, without any hesitation, she captured Rachel's lips for the first time, felt them part against her own. Quinn's knees almost gave out when Rachel gripped the back of her neck and pulled her deeper into the kiss, whimpering out her long-stifled desperation. After all, it had come to this one moment. Tears in her eyes, Quinn's only thought was 'finally' as the sweet insistence of Rachel's lips collided with her own.


	4. Days 95 through 118

**Day 95**

It was surprisingly hot, although the sun was not out in full view. Quinn had noticed that the clouds were thinning – the environment was shifting – the colossal change in atmosphere now reaching what she hoped was a semi-normal condition. Although there would never be a world like the one they had grown up in, and would forever miss, they could build a new one.

The Manhattan Islanders and Santana's "family" were on the long trek to new land. While it had taken the small recon group five days to reach their plotted-out destination, their numbers were at least tripled now, and therefore it would take even longer. Not everyone could walk six hours a day, go with little water and only dried jerky. Velma had estimated it would take them ten days to arrive to the area Quinn and Jupiter had found. In the society they had come from, ten days would have been a ridiculous amount of time to travel such a short distance. Ten days was almost an entire paycheck, half a month's rent.

Velma had been formulating theories as to what caused the demise of such a large portion of humanity and the rapid growth of flora. In normal circumstances, whole buildings would not be swallowed by massive, Tolkien-esque trees, then again when faced with the reality, Quinn hadn't questioned it. It was what it was, what really mattered was how to survive and thrive in these new circumstances. As always, the human instinct to adapt overtook the desire to know _why _until you were comfortable enough in your survival to question. It wasn't until the core group – Velma, Jupiter, Apollo, Santana, Brittany, Rachel, and Quinn – were settled around a fire the second night of the trek that Velma began to share a theory she'd been formulating with Apollo. Not only was Apollo great with electronics, but he was downright genius when it came to environmental physics. Quinn idly wondered what kind of life he would have had – if the world had not gone to hell.

"Carbon monoxide," Velma stated, jerky hanging from her teeth before she sucked it in and ate noisily. Her buggy eyes darted around to make sure no one was listening. "We all learned about that. Trees breathe in and flourish on carbon dioxide. Humans, however, die if exposed to too much carbon monoxide."

As if on cue, Apollo jumped in, "Normally, trees expel carbon _dioxide _so there's no problem. Humans can withstand carbon dioxide in small amounts because we breathe it out naturally. Carbon dioxide is turned to carbon monoxide when there's not enough oxygen."

"Over time, humanity has started to pollute the atmosphere with so many chemicals and we've done so much damage to nature that it couldn't right itself anymore. Same with trees. They could survive as they always had, and having no conscience it's not as if nature decided to wipe us out – we just couldn't cope with the changes we created." Velma finished here, and looked self-satisfied.

Santana frowned, "Okay, but why are trees all fucking giant?"

"The trees are thriving. There isn't an equal exchange anymore. Like … if we were on a see-saw with nature, it was even before. It's not even anymore. Nature can soak up all the resources humanity would have before," Apollo answered this one, exchanged a glance with Velma. "It's just a theory anyway."

"A good one," the bug-eyed girl nodded.

Quinn frowned, glanced around them. "I mean it's as good as any. I guess I never really … questioned why."

"I have," Rachel was staring into the fire with a troubled gaze. "Why did only some of us survive?"

"Some people survive carbon monoxide poisoning. If a pipe leaks and exposes a whole family, sometimes one person only suffers mild symptoms. We," Velma motioned around them and at the larger group, "all suffered sickness at first, but that was the extent of it."

"Does this mean bugs are going to get _really _big now?" Brittany questioned as she looked up from the knife in Jupiter's hand, which happened to have a surprising etching of a duck on it.

Velma laughed, but Apollo shrugged, "It's possible. There was a period in which the ruling species were mostly oversized bugs and the average mammal was the size of a mouse."

After this, the group sat in silence.

"I really hope bugs don't get very big," everyone's gaze turned toward Rachel, who shrunk at the attention for a moment, "I tend to get rather frightened of even the smallest ones."

Quinn grinned, slipped her hand to Rachel's lap and squeezed her thigh gently. They might be amidst the end of the world as they knew it, but some things never changed.

**Day 97**

Some people were not as equipped to handle long-distance walking. As a result, the group had split into two, with a detachment of Santana's best leading them about a mile or two back. The group, for people mostly under 30, was however surprisingly equipped to handle survival. Nature could not make a species that was not meant for survival.

Quinn read footprints alongside Santana. They both had picked up a knowledge of the art in a short amount of time, and they both voiced privately concerns that groups of bandits were moving in on territory they had explored previously. Likely there were handfuls of survivors that would break off and join the bandits, especially the more adventurous and impressionable young. From the footprints, they would be moving into a high-traffic area for whoever had left footprints days before them. Quinn hadn't noticed the footprints the last time around, but of course she really hadn't been looking. Likely the food source (feral cows now left in the wilds) was a draw for these bandits. They'd all have to be very careful, and Santana's men and women more vigilant.

Rachel jogged up to the pair after noonday sun fell behind the shadow of looming wilds in front of them. "A fight ..." she panted, and Quinn's hand darted to Rachel's arm and squeezed, concern knotting her brows, "two of the younger."

Not needing another word, Santana radioed Duckie and bolted. Quinn leaned in, impulsively pressing her lips to Rachel's in a semi-desperate parting kiss. She also took note of the surprised and glazed way Rachel looked after her as she turned on heel and ran after Santana. She arrived to the back of the group just as Santana was sweeping her foot at the ankle of some 17 year old who had been picking a fight. The kid was good at fighting, however young, because he was holding his ground against Santana's seasoned skills. Quick as a cat, Santana dislodged the boy's grip around her waist, spun in the grasp, and caught the left side of his head with her right elbow. His eyes rolled back in his head, and the Latina kneed him in the groin for good measure. She shoved the groaning boy to the ground and pressed the butt of her gun against his throat. He coughed up blood, clenched his eyes shut, and gagged as the butt pressed against his esophagus.

"Santana!" Quinn called, seeing her friend's rage getting out of control. There was a small cut above Santana's eyebrow, likely the reason she was irritated with the kid. "If there's damage he could choke to death on his own blood," her feet were moving before she knew, and she was gently shoving Santana backward. "Duckie," she motioned to Brittany, who passed off the other offending party to Jupiter. They lifted the injured boy to his feet.

"Fucking faggot," the kid choked out. Several people spoke out in defense of the other kid Brittany had been holding.

Renewed, Santana surged forward. Santana with a gun was a risk - well, really, with any kind of weapon was a risk. She caught the bigot's jaw with a left-hook, leaving his jaw visibly dislocated. They'd have to pop that back into place. Quinn flinched.

"Jesus, Santana!" Her tone was more surprised than harsh, though there were undertones of disapproval.

Duckie frowned, "Don't use that word."

The kid groaned. "Fuck off. All of you." At least, that's the words Quinn could best discern from his dislocated jaw.

They tried, after some time, to ignore his goading. Two hours after the confrontation, however, he had tried to steal one of the escort's guns, and coincidentally was left behind by the group, to be killed, discarded, or recruited by the bandits.

Santana's ears didn't stop smoking until they made camp later that night.

**Day 98**

It was markedly quieter, yesterday's confrontation all behind them. There had been no call to the forward-group about a boy left behind, so likely he had crawled off somewhere shortly after their leaving him. Quinn had discharged Santana for the day, offering to take over her duties. The kid had landed a bruising blow to the Latina's ribs, and left her too sore to stay ahead of everyone.

Rachel, armed with a small hand-gun slinged across her hip, walked beside Quinn that day. It was a good day. The blonde often found herself watching the way Rachel's military-issue boots crunched the ground below them, a half-smile permanently etched on her lips.

There hadn't been a lot of time for any affection or growth of what had occured shortly before the group had left - their little "first date" - so it was still the little moments that made Quinn's heart flutter. Sometimes Rachel would brush her hand across Quinn's arm when she spoke, or she'd catch hazel eyes with brown and play with Quinn the way a cat would its prey. Sometime after noonday sun fell, Rachel's hand slipped into Quinn's secretly, fingers grazing her palm before they twined within the blonde's. It felt right, and she wondered how she had gone through high school without this.

Quinn's legs, even with her distracted mind, ached. Walking continuously as such seemed to take a wear on her body.

Later that night, Rachel's wandering hands would massage some of that tension out of her thighs until they were interrupted, leaving more than just the coals burning in the camp.

**Day 102**

A bandit camp stood abandoned a mile into the wilds. It was consistently dark beneath the shade of the overgrown forest, and it had been hard to spot from the distance. Yet, as the forward-group came upon the camp, the coals were still warm as Quinn held her hand over the fire pit dug into the ground. They walked much more delicately that day.

**Day 103**

Luckily, either they had avoided the bandits all the day before or the bandits had rather cleverly avoided them.

Luck did not last.

Quinn didn't know what time it was when the first guy dropped from the trees. He fell on Rachel first, because she was most prominently separate from the rest of them. Adrenaline took over as Quinn saw the glint of a knife pressed to Rachel's throat. Somehow, she found herself atop the man, grasping his wrist and beating it until his clenched fingers released the knife. His wrist might also have been broken, but his left hand was swinging freely and trying to shove Quinn off, but with teeth gritted and jaw set in anger, Quinn forgot everything about having an actual weapon and resorted to beating the shit out of the man.

It wasn't until Rachel was pulling Quinn back that the blonde realized her fists and clothing were bloodied and the man was likely dead. Tears sprung to her eyes both in relief and regret, but there wasn't time to dwell on it, because a handful of other men were attacking the group. A few of the civillians were fighting, but it was mostly Santana's people that fought. Very few gun-shots went off, but those that did were muffled by the sounds of battle.

Quinn and Rachel split off as a man came charging at them, shouting the name of another - perhaps the man Quinn had quite literally beat to death - and wielding a bloodied dagger. Rachel smartly ducked as he came swinging at her, and with a blow more experienced than Quinn expected, the diva swung her elbow upward into his nose and knocked the man backward. Quinn caught the heavy man by his shoulders, dislodging the loose rope tied around her waist as an all-purpose survival tool, and wrapped it around his throat until the skin bulged around it. Rachel ducked as the man's arms swung, and grabbed the knife from the dirt.

The man was turning purple by the time he let out a cry of pain. Standing before him was Rachel, knife gripped in her hand, blade driven through the meat of his shoulder. Not a killing blow - Rachel was not the kind of girl, Quinn knew, that could ever think of killing a man. Just as Quinn was about to loosen the rope, someone behind them knocked Quinn to the ground and the dying bandit in her grasp landed straight on top.

Bones crunched, and the dying man rolled away from Quinn as the rope swung free. The blonde rolled to her side, dodging the downward stroke of a heavy bat. Beside her, dirt sprayed upward as the force of the blow impacted the ground. The choking man was stumbling toward Rachel, but Quinn had to fend off blows from the second bandit. Quinn caught his fist as it came flying at her, grit her teeth, and kneed upward into his groin. She gave him no time to react as she grabbed his head - apparently possessed by the spirit of a gladiator - and slammed it against the tree behind him. The bat fell to the ground beside him as the man groaned. Quinn struck him with her knee against his inner-thigh, still gripping his head to keep control of him.

Gunfire came from behind her. Dangerously close. She dropped the man in her control, injured enough to remain subdued and groaning upon the forest floor, and spun around to find Rachel dropping her gun and ducking. Quinn flew to Rachel's defense, saw the shorter girl attempt her own version of a tackle against him, and simultaneously Quinn leapt upon his lurching back. She drove the dagger stuck in his shoulder just a bit deeper and he howled in pain.

Around them, everyone else was engaged in battle and civillians were huddled amidst the fighting. Santana was matching blow for blow against a more athletic bandit. Brittany was sweeping a man off of his feet and fending another off.

The blonde pulled the dagger from his shoulder - not without effort and strain - and drove it into his back as she dropped from him. This caused him to collapse, Rachel ducking again out of the way and slipping across the ground, the discarded gun quickly in her possession once more. Quinn saw Rachel aiming with a _just in case _look in her eyes as the blonde breathlessly rolled the man away from her. He was alive, but quite likely paralyzed.

Quinn hated this. Hated death, hated being the giver of death. Yet, as the grim reaper for the moment, she knew what had to be done. The man would die a slow death if not given mercy. Moving past the three men she and Rachel had downed, she took the hand-gun gently from Rachel. The brunette seemed to know what was happening, because she folded her arms over her chest and covered her eyes once she knew it was safe to do so.

Raising the gun to the most recently injured man, Quinn kneeled upon his back. His lack of reaction told her that he was indeed paralyzed. Tears in her eyes, she whispered an apology before pressing the gun at his temple and pulling the trigger. She repeated the process with the man slumped against the tree.

The horrors of the day wouldn't be forgotten. Quinn, emptied of passion, handed Rachel's gun wordlessly back to the diva and saw the last of the bandits fall dead or soon-to-be.

More than her own innocence, she'd wished she could have spared Rachel from this day.

_Sometimes life it takes you by the hair, pulls you down before you know it._

Later that night, the camp was exceedingly silent. Quinn and Rachel retired early, retreating to a more secluded part of the camp. They crawled into their tent, and quickly found one another's embrace.

"I feel like a monster," Rachel whispered against Quinn's neck after some time laying in silence.

Quinn closed her eyes. How she wished she could shield Rachel, give her a peaceful world just like the one they came from. This was, indeed, an entirely different world, even though it was the very same planet they were all born. They were not meant to be killers, soldiers, judges of who lived and died. Rachel especially. She was meant to be a star, shining just as brightly as Vega. "You're anything but a monster."

"Those men - "

"Were trying to kill us," Quinn finished resolutely. "Sometimes we have to do terrible things to survive."

The news was not happy. The blonde sighed.

"I'd change it all for you, if I could."

Rachel tucked her head into Quinn's shoulder and snuggled just a bit closer. "I know you would."

"I hate it, too. Seeing the life go from them and knowing I did it. I took that life."

Silence greeted Quinn's admission.

"You saved mine."

That was worth six lives, though the taking of them weighed heavy on Quinn. The blonde found Rachel's lips in the dark, feeling a new surge of emotion. Her kiss was so fierce and desperate that it enflamed them both. Fingers on either side of Rachel's face, she sought out the purity in Rachel, the innocence, wanted to taste what it was like to be young again in a world that they knew. The taste of Rachel's lips was an enduring constant.

Taken by the power of Quinn's kiss, Rachel gasped a little at the sudden and fierce contact. Her hands instinctively grasped at Quinn's hips. She felt Rachel crushing herself further, pressing them so tightly together that her thigh was making hard contact with Rachel's hip.

It didn't take long for the pair's emotion to surface. The kissing became needy in a way neither had expected on the cusp of such violence earlier. Rachel was all but panting into Quinn's mouth as the blonde rolled atop her and a thigh made contact with hot center. The petite body beneath her rolled upward, groaning in delight and eyes fluttering shut. Quinn sucked at Rachel's bottom lip, a rough hand shoving upward beneath the brunette's shirt and finding an eager nipple. She rolled the hard nub between her fingers and had to bite back a moan of her own. Simultaneously, her lips collided with Rachel's as she rolled again, canted her hips downward. It became a steady motion until Rachel's heated whisper broke the sound of their heavy breathing.

"Please." The magick word. It was all it took to cause Quinn to gasp in arousal, canting her hips downward again as Rachel's fingers found her ass and squeezed - hard. Slipping her hand between them, she forced her fingers beneath the fabric of Rachel's pants, and every part of her burst into flame.

She and Rachel gasped in surprise as the blonde slipped her fingers into Rachel's tightness. Arousal was a living thing dancing between them. Her strokes were steady, and with each downward cant of Quinn's hips, the blonde pushed her fingers deeper into Rachel. Each cant was slow, practiced, hungry. Soon, Rachel was gasping, moaning, whimpering. Her fingers clutched at Quinn's ass, hips grinding upward in a demanding way. The brunette's cheeks were flushed as she caught Quinn's lips as best she could with the rocking of her hips into each stroke.

Quinn fucked her slow and hard for what seemed to be a long time. Rachel bit at Quinn's neck, her legs spreading further.

"Deeper," Rachel panted against Quinn's ear, and the girl moaned loudly, bit Quinn's shoulder as the blonde curled her fingertips. She pressed, hard. Rachel's words broke off into indescernable syllables and the blonde began fucking her faster. The roughness of their coupling replaced the former soft intensity of it. She wanted Rachel to enjoy this as much as she was. Words spilt from Rachel's mouth that she never expected.

When Rachel began to tighten and pulse around her fingers, Quinn caught the brunette's lips and assaulted her mouth hungrily. A string of 'yeah, yeahs' began to spill between their lips from Rachel, and Quinn was canting downward so hard that she thought Rachel might be bruised the next day. Yet, the brunette's fingers clutched insistently at Quinn's ass.

It left Quinn throbbing, and she saw Rachel's eyes rolling backward. The brunette's petite hips began to insist upward quicker, in short bursts. Suddenly, she let out a moan and clutched at Quinn's shoulders, and the blonde felt her explode against her touch. The moan fell off, but Rachel's body was rigid beneath her, lifting Quinn's hips off the ground.

Slowly, Quinn began to move her fingers just enough to bring Rachel back to earth. Rachel leaned upward, tears in her dark eyes, and kissed Quinn passionately. Her arms wrapped around Quinn's neck as they kissed and kissed, both taken by the complete and total emotion involved in such an intense coupling.

"I love you so much," Quinn whispered tearfully, and kissed every inch of Rachel's face. Her reason to survive was this. The warmth of Rachel, the purity of her, the absolute perfection in the way they were quite matched in body and soul. She held Rachel, or Rachel held her, that night as they began to drop off to sleep.

**Day 104**

The day's trek was slow. Everyone seemed to be well-worn out from the battle the day before, but at least everything seemed to be clear for the time-being. Quinn and Rachel strolled somewhat behind Santana, who was spending time talking with Velma about plans for what they would do when they reached their destination. It was a hot day, somewhat hotter than usual, and tempers were flaring again. Jupiter had managed to cool a few heads, with his easy smile.

Apollo, who had before been leading the second group, had joined them and presently caught their attention. "Hey, I think I'm getting transmission from another group of survivors. They don't sound like bandits, either."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. One of them ... well, to be honest I think it's a girl but I don't know. She keeps calling in over the frequencies, saying they need help but they don't know where they are."

Quinn arched an eyebrow, met Rachel's eyes. There was a mutual understanding that they would try to help anyone who needed it. "Have you told Santana?" Quinn asked, motioning forward where Santana had her head ducked toward Velma as they talked.

"No, but I'm on my way to let her know." He clapped Quinn on the back, his bronzed skin marred by heat and sun. He really looked like she imagined his namesake to be. Quinn watched him talk to Santana, gauged her reaction, and then turned her attention to the fingers playing at her palm, a smile creeping onto her lips.

**Day 105**

They reached the new settlement area later that day. At least, Quinn thought it was later that day. Everyone seemed equally relieved to be able to set a permanent camp, although too tired to begin building anything but campfires. They would tackle permanent structures in a day or two, Santana had shared with Quinn, when they had all gotten some rest. The civillians were far worse off, some sick from travelling so long or having suffered minor heat strokes. For the most part, considering there had only been one loss - the rowdy kid whose jaw Santana had dislocated - they had done well.

Around the campfire that night, smiles came easier.

"You guys really gotta learn to control your volume," Quinn teased Santana, who was practically purring as Brittany toyed with her hair.

"This coming from our little Crusader who blasphemes every four seconds nightly?" The jest was returned with a wolf-like smile from Santana.

This caused Quinn to blush and clear her throat. Rachel, she observed, was suddenly very interested in something on the ground and red from her cheeks to her throat. "I deserved that," Quinn gave a wry smile, slipped her hand to Rachel's thigh and gently stroked the warmth of it. Rachel's hand covered hers, and their eyes met just long enough to help soothe their embarassment.

Velma, clearly feeling awkward, spoke up and somewhat loudly. "So what do we do about the people that have been radioing in?"

"Help them, once we start things here. I figure me, Duckie, Quinn, and Rach here can probably head out with Jupiter and go out to where we're getting the signal from. Apollo, you said you can wire some kind of GPS locator, right?"

"A really primitive one," Apollo glanced at Santana when he was mentioned, "but yeah, it'll get the job done. Like a metal detector, I suppose," he clarified for those who didn't understand what he might have meant.

Quinn nodded, felt Rachel squeeze her hand. Meeting those probing brown eyes, she knew that Rachel meant to ask her if it was such a good idea, all of them going. Rachel likely didn't want a repeat of the confrontation with the bandits, and to be frank, neither did Quinn. The blonde pressed her lips to Rachel's temple, a silent answer. They would be okay. Rachel was exceptional with First Aid and a few other things, so that's mostly why Santana would have insisted that Rachel come along as well. She had also turned out not to be too bad at fighting, if the battle with the bandits was any measure.

**Day 107**

Construction began that day. Everyone, even children, were chipping in. They had some rudementary tools to cut wood. Their initial shelters would be lean-tos, huts, really primitive living-places. They were sheltered from the sun and rain by the thick forest roof above their heads, so for the moment the primitive shelters would do. Each family got to decide with whom they wanted to live in a small shelter with. Most families stayed together. Couples and singles who wanted to live alone would have to deal with roommates for the moment.

As Quinn sweat and worked hard with some of the stronger individuals to saw off large chunks of trees - fallen limbs and in some cases huge sections of bark - she thought how she used to watch National Geographic and marvel that little villages could build so much and work so well together. Yet here they were, a giant mix of New Yorkers, middle-Americans, all different backgrounds, raising an entire village together out of nothing. Jobs and duties would sort themselves out once they all felt they had a stable environment to lay their heads at night, so there was little talk of anything else. There were some that had obvious preferences - most of Santana's men and women wanted to hunt or build, the tasks that fit their high level of physicality. The civillians, mothers, and fathers who were used to little more than doing laundry and cooking wanted positions for such tasks.

They were, essentially, rebuilding civilization. Different members of their little "tribe" had begun to lend their expertise, eating hungrily at lunch while discussing how the village would be able to sustain water and food for a long period of time, and store food for any kind of winter. It seemed to some, though, that there may not be a winter with the climate change. As Quinn had pointed out, they should always be prepared for any emergency and that meant situations where they had no food, no water, and no means to retrieve either. Most agreed with her.

It was the first day that the entire group sat around in a huge, communal group. They'd dug a six by six fire-pit, and everyone was crowded around the pit. Tensions had smoothed out between villagers since they arrived at their new home and begun working together toward a common goal. Children darted around, some parents called after them, and faces were alight with a sort of happiness Quinn had not seen in some time.

They were becoming a very, very large family. The close bonds Santana's group shared had begun to extend to the Manhattan Islanders.

When lunch was finished, everyone resumed building and preparing living space for everyone else. Santana and Duckie had agreed they wanted to share a hut with Rachel and Quinn, which had been no surprise. Jupiter, Apollo, Velma, and a few of the higher ups from Santana's regiments split up into two large groups, choosing to live together as if in a barracks. As was such, they spent the entire day building two long-houses. The smaller families and groups built huts large enough to accomodate, and the bigger groups with eight or more built long-houses - or at least small versions of them, as none of them were very experienced with building what was seen as primal.

The entire village had been built by the time it went dark in the forest. The six-by-six fire-pit blazed high as they gathered around for a rationed dinner. Taking in each face, each person, Quinn felt Rachel beside her, heard her chiming laughter, and thanked God that she had found Rachel, found these people. Most of all, she was just grateful to have found Rachel.

**Day 110**

Planning for the exhibition back out of their newly-built settlement wasn't too difficult. Quinn and Santana spent most of the time plotting out a land-map, Apollo spent his working on the locator, and Rachel spent hers worrying obsessively.

**Day 112**

Radio communication was coming in far more frequently by the day. The group, whoever it was, had apparently run into a military installment and joined up with them. However, as Santana and Quinn ducked their heads together in front of the walkies, they began to realize "military installment" was only three survivors. Including the two civilians they'd heard over the frequency, that made for five more. The villagers had built two extra huts, larger to accomodate any straggling survivors they might take in.

"I'm glad there's only five of them," Santana confessed, ashamed. Quinn gathered the shame came from being glad there was not more life to be found. "I don't know if we can keep a community like this together, and if it gets much bigger that's gonna be a bigger job."

Quinn nodded in agreement. "The civillians though. I just feel like ... "

"They sound familiar? I know. I think the one is a dude. He almost sounds like ... "

Quinn shook her head, a silent request not to say it. She didn't want to be disappointed if it wasn't someone they both suspected.

"Fuck. I guess it's never going to be any rest from now on, huh?" Santana realized, sharing a look with Quinn. "It's always going to be .. hunting, governing, working together, finding other survivors, fending off bandits."

"Welcome to the Stone Age, S." Quinn smirked softly, clapped Santana on the shoulder, and then rested her head there, releasing a sigh. "Suddenly I miss Cheerio practice."

"Yeah, that shit would be a cake-walk now. Even the part where Sylvester would get out her B.B. Gun and shoot at us so we'd run faster."

**Day 118**

Rachel was wringing her hands, and Quinn settled a hand on top of them. The girl sat on their cot, worrying about their departure later that day.

"It's going to be fine."

"What if we - "

"Rach," Quinn silenced her, pressing her fingers to Rachel's lips and shaking her head. "You're going to be with me, San, Britt, and Jupiter. We're going to be just fine. It's a short trip, from what Apollo says. Just over a hill or two, no further."

Rachel nodded, "It'll still be a day or so before we get back with whoever they are. And I've been thinking," her dark eyes grew panicked, "what if it's a trap? What if - "

Laughing, Quinn sighed a little, "It's not going to be a trap."

"Knock, knock, bitches, put your clothes on," Santana teased from the other side of the door-flap before striding in. Their bags - all military issue - had plenty of supplies in case of any emergency or in case they got lost, and were piled on Santana's and Brittany's cot. "We ready to rumble?"

"Affirmative, Sir," Quinn teased, smirking at her best friend before standing and pulling Rachel to her feet. "Another hike in the woods with you. I'll have to _try _not to lose my mind," their banter was easy, as was their smiles.

Rachel seemed soothed by the play, and shook her head, "You two. You act like you're so miserable together when you spend 75% of your time together otherwise."

"When you're not sucking her face," Santana winked, shoved Rachel's shoulder ever so gently. "I got my pack," with that, she surprised Rachel by picking her up at the waist. The brunette flailed as she was tossed over Santana's shoulder, and Quinn laughed, grabbed their backpacks, and jogged out the door after her best friend and the flailing mess of limbs that was Rachel Berry.


	5. Days 119 through 126

**Title:** Last Living Souls

**Pairing:** Quinn/Rachel, Santana/Brittany, Kurt/Sam

**Synopsis**: The military outpost turns out to be a straggling group of five survivors; two of which happen to be familiar faces. The trek out to rescue them turns out to be a bit harder than our girls (& Jupiter) expected.

**Author's Note: ** Title was inspired by Gorillaz' "Last Living Souls." Thank you for all the comments – at this point they've grown so many I'd have to dedicated a whole chapter just to the responses, but know that I read every single one of them and appreciate every word. I apologize for the lengthy wait – life gets away with me sometimes.

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**Day 119**

"Crack of dawn, kid," Santana stifled a yawn, her words muffled. When nobody responded, Quinn felt a stiff kick to her side and groaned.

"Fine, fine," Quinn was still not a morning person – even though they had no choice but to rise with the sun. Her ruffled blonde mane was almost unmanageable and she knew it. Making quick work of her hair, she hid it under a bandana and stood up. Rachel was already packing their things. "What, am I the last one to get up?"

Santana rolled her eyes, "Like that's new."

"Hah," Quinn poked her tongue out. She shook out her bedroll, dirt and debris flying toward Santana intentionally before she rolled it up and tied it to her pack.

They still had some miles to go this morning before they'd reach the source of radio signals. Apollo had rigged a basic locator that picked up radio frequencies and dialed in their exact location; he sent it along with the group while he stayed back to manage the little village they'd all built together. Quinn wasn't looking forward to the trek – after all she'd gotten used to the luxury of staying in one place after their long journey to their settlement. As she tied the straps of her pack into place, she glanced up and saw playful brown eyes watching her from afar.

Rachel grinned at being caught, and bit her bottom lip as she glanced back at the food rations she was packing up for them. Her small hands worked determinedly, and Quinn chuckled low in her throat, inaudibly, feeling that familiar warmth bloom in her chest in remembering all that had transpired between them in the last hundred-plus days.

Jupiter was plotting out their course, having surveyed some of the surrounding land before it'd gotten dark last night, Santana leaning on Duckie and appearing lost in thought as to what the best way was to go. The terrain wasn't overly friendly in this area. There were a few high cliffs that they'd not been aware of until now, and they had ropes and gear to climb and rappel back down, but it didn't mean they had the training. Santana and Jupiter were the only ones with any significant training. And then there was the problem of getting everyone down with a limited amount of gear.

Obviously, they had a few hurdles to deal with.

Santana was the first to climb up, hitching a line all the way up for everyone else to use as a safety. When she reached the top, she motioned for the next to come up. Quinn watched a little nervously as Rachel scaled the cliff rock, seeing the girl slip once or twice but catch herself accordingly. New world, new skills were required.

Quinn was next, and she found the task a little difficult at first but then quickly joined the others at the top. Jupiter was the last up, collecting the safety rope and clips. Santana clapped him on the back before motioning to the others. The trek was one of stealth. They didn't want to alert any rogue groups of bandits – just because they weren't in the city that didn't mean there wasn't danger involved. Quinn wasn't really keen on getting shot again.

As they trekked through the woods, Quinn found herself walking just behind Rachel. Her senses were alive, keen to catch any threat. There was something about being in this kind of world with someone you loved – a part of you awoke when you realized you had to be unceasingly vigilant. Any threat to Rachel would have had Quinn on high alert.

Luckily, harm didn't come as she had thought it might.

**Day 121**

Around the campfire at night, the group shared stories about what life was like before. It was a kind of nostalgic thing, and the group itself had only just reached an emotional place where they could acknowledge that once the world _had _been different.

"We hated each other," Quinn laughed a little as she chewed on a dry piece of jerky, motioning to Rachel.

"Oh, come on," Santana groaned, rolling her head back. "Seriously? I mean sure you guys had words or whatever but the whole time in glee you were eye-banging each other and even during solos. Like … Rachel," she motioned to the brunette, "when you wrote that song 'Get It Right,' Quinn was mooning at you from the side of the stage."

Rachel blushed, laughing, "Were you really?"

Quinn grinned, shrugged a shoulder noncommittally.

"And when you two sang that mash up? It looked like you were either going to hug each other and cry or throw your chairs to the side and make out."

"Totally," Duckie agreed with a thoughtful nod.

Fully blushing, Quinn laughed, "You guys are ridiculous. I mean, okay. Okay. So I had a thing for Rachel and I didn't know it. Besides, it's not like Rachel didn't totally have a thing for me too."

"Oh, I definitely did. You should see my diaries from when we were fighting at our worst," the brunette beside her was blushing red and grinning from ear to ear. "But I thought you and Santana liked each other, honestly."

Santana, Duckie, and Quinn all blanked, then broke out in assorted laughter.

"What? It's totally believable. That girl fight you and Santana had," Rachel motioned between them, "I'm pretty sure there was a betting pool on whether you'd lock yourselves together in an empty classroom after that."

Santana laughed, "_Claro que no, _are you serious?"

"One-hundred percent."

"Y'all grow up together?" Jupiter motioned between the four of them.

"High school," the girls answered simultaneously.

"Weird how you'd all end up in the same place after … " he indicated the overgrowth around them, bringing them all back to the state of the world as it was now. It was essentially a post-apocalyptic world, one they'd only ever imagined in science-fiction films.

Solemn nods.

"I came to find Rachel," Quinn answered honestly. Beside her, Rachel's soft hand joined with her own. The warmth of it made her grin quietly and cast her eyes to the ground. "I just felt compelled. It was weird."

"Finding us was a bonus," Santana smirked. Jupiter laughed; his grin was wide and bleach-white.

Rachel giggled at the pair before glancing at Quinn. In the firelight, the diva's eyes glittered, her face aglow with the kind of look one had when they were first falling in love.

"You two are so cute," Duckie mused, smiling a little at the pair.

"It only took the end of the world to get Quinn to realize her lesbianism," Santana added wryly. They exchanged playful glares.

"What about you, Jupiter? What was life like?"

The larger man shrugged his shoulders, "Normal life for a New Yorker. Work, work, work. I worked at an office building. I wasn't anybody important, you know, but I didn't mind my job. I worked to the point where I missed a lot of my daughter's life," Jupiter frowned a little bit at this. Around him, the girls were rapt with attention at the mention of a daughter. "Her mamma took her to Jersey one year, we ended up divorcing before that. I was trying to make ends meet at work without realizing I wasn't keeping my marriage together."

"What happened to them?" Rachel asked, solemn and quiet as she gazed on the man.

Jupiter shook his head, "I don't know, little one."

"I'm sorry."

A nod of his head affirmed that he, too, was sorry. The reminder of family made the group fall silent. It wasn't something easy to think about now. They all had families they had come from, but now practically none of them knew what had happened to those they had loved. The assumption was grave.

Quinn thought of little Beth, who would have been a toddler when everything finally happened. She would've been walking, talking, starting kindergarten. Beside her, she felt Rachel kiss her hand on the knuckles.

The group went to bed a little somber that night, reality sinking in around them. As much as they built the world back up, they would never be able to restore the lives that had been lost.

**Day 123**

Santana was scanning the walkie for anyone that might be broadcasting over the channels. It was a long-shot, because often the walkie only picked up frequencies shared by the singular device it matched.

Quinn was perched on a high branch, keeping an eye out for suspicious activity. Her knee was feeling a little stiff and as she shifted, she almost lost her balance. She cursed and grappled at the tree trunk beside her, awkwardly hugging the massive thing. Below her, she saw Rachel jerking toward the tree in a sudden motion as if she was going to catch Quinn. The blonde waved her off, a little embarrassed. She flashed a smile to assure her lover she was alright.

They were closer to the last known location of the little surviving group. Quinn felt it in her gut. As she rappelled down the side of the tree and landed on firm ground, she felt Rachel's hand at her back and smiled. They shared a look before Santana whistled to the group to keep moving. The blonde gathered her gear and strode ahead, Rachel trotting beside her.

**Day 124**

"He's … bleeding … " Another crack on the radio. "Bandits … " the static made the rest of the message incoherent.

They moved faster, covered more ground, hoping that whoever was calling for help would still be alive when they got there.

**Day 125**

Ducked down behind an outcropping, the group waited. A pack of bandits were spotted just a few minutes before and it was uncertain how hostile they were. Santana handed Quinn the binoculars and motioned the girth of the bandit group.

They were carrying an unconscious body between them. Laughing.

It didn't seem good.

They followed them for a half a day, always sticking to the trees and staying out of sight. At one point, they let the bandits get ahead about a half a mile before pursuing them further. Santana motioned for the group to halt as one by one, the bandits dropped into the ground. Likely they had an underground shelter. The unconscious body they carried with them showed no signs of stirring or struggle.

Santana caught the last bandit with a bullet in the head. He dropped to the ground. Another bandit called out, and one by one Santana shot each curious bandit. When Quinn marked the last bandit as dead, their little mercenary group advanced. In formation, they moved around the dead bodies. Duckie rolled each one over to check pulses.

When Quinn dropped down into the bunker, she helped Rachel down and they spotted the unconscious body draped over a busted-down couch.

"Area's clear," Santana called. Duckie confirmed topside, and Rachel was the first one to go over to the apparently unconscious captive.

It wasn't anyone they recognized, but he was clutching a note in his hand. It was simply coordinates, scrawled in messy handwriting.

"Quinn, help me," Rachel beckoned, and the pair dragged the body to the ground. Rachel checked his pulse and performed CPR. It was to no avail, and Quinn kissed her lover's temple when Rachel showed signs of grief.

This was the world they lived in now. Quinn had to remind herself of that.

Santana, frowning, helped Rachel stand and took the note from her hand. "I think this is where our stragglers will be. He must've been a runner, sent to find help."

"I tried to save him," Rachel stated tearfully.

**Day 126**

It was late in the afternoon when Santana checked her compass. They were somewhere around the coordinates. A pole stuck out of the ground, a white scarf tied around it. Santana checked the ground around it, but it was Rachel who spotted the clue.

"These rocks," she murmured. Large stone slabs where arranged about thirty feet away on the ground. "They're … like an arrow."

"It seems too obvious," Santana worried aloud. She and Quinn shared glances. "It could be some kind of trap." She clicked a round into her pistol and shoved it into its holster. "Quinn, Jupiter, you watch our backs. Rachel and Duckie, stay behind me."

They moved as one, methodically watching the surrounding area. Where trees had been, they seemed to have moved beyond the vast forest-section of land. They were moving through tall grasses when Rachel disappeared.

Or rather, Rachel yelled and tripped over something. In the six-foot tall foliage, it wasn't easy finding her. Quinn would have laughed if they weren't acting as rescuing mercenaries. She helped Rachel to her feet, but as she brushed Rachel off, Duckie shoved them both aside.

"It's a door!"

Buried under dirt, grass, and twigs, was a door. Rachel had tripped over the metal handle to a bunker. The team worked quick, uncovered the bunker door. Jupiter and Duckie flanked Santana and Quinn as they tugged the doors open, guns aimed at any potential threat that might burst out.

It was eerily silent as the group descended into the bunker. There seemed to be little light down below and there wasn't any indication of life. Santana trained her light on the area around them, Jupiter just as vigilant. Quinn had her arm in front of Rachel, shielding her in what way she could.

"Please don't shoot!" A woman's voice called in the darkness. "Please."

Santana narrowed her eyes. Never too trusting, she shone light on a group of people huddled together. "They're friendlies," she called. "We're not here to hurt you. We heard the call for help on the radio. I'm – "

"Santana," Sam's face appeared, dirt-covered.

"Trouty Mouth?"

Quinn, Brittany, and Rachel all collectively gasped at just about the same time the nickname came from Santana's lips.

"Another high school friend?" Jupiter asked in a way that seemed to suggest he wasn't surprised at all. "Might as well make it a reunion."

Santana hesitated, but moved forward and hugged the familiar friend to her. Rachel did the same next. Quinn and Brittany followed, and when introductions were made, Quinn realized Sam looked like he'd been crying.

"Sam, besides the obvious end of the world scenario," she grabbed his hand, "why do you look devastated?"

It was then they realized that the huddled group hadn't been hiding. They'd been protecting a body.

Rachel dropped to the ground beside the unconscious boy. She turned and met Quinn's eyes, "It's Kurt," she whispered in total disbelief.

"It was the bandits," Sam was nearly sobbing and he wasn't shy about pushing people away from Kurt. The boy tugged Kurt into his lap. "They hit him over the head. I don't know if he's going to be okay." He was rocking Kurt close to him, lips pressed to his temple.

Tears sprung to Rachel's eyes. Santana reacted in typical military fashion. She coaxed Sam to let Kurt go, and motioned to Jupiter.

"He has a pulse. We just have to find a way to rouse him so I can see if he's got a concussion."

Jupiter squeezed Sam's shoulder, "We're gonna take care of him, dude."

Sam was still crying; Quinn tugged her former friend by the arm and pulled him into a hug. The taller boy almost collapsed into her embrace. "It's going to be okay," Quinn soothed.

Rachel was gently slapping Kurt's face. When that didn't work, Santana pried one eyelid open and shone her flashlight into one eye, moved his head either way, and repeated the process with the other eye.

"Normal dilation," she informed them, "normal reaction. He should be okay. If anything it's a mild concussion." She patted his cheeks, tried speaking his name with some volume. "Do you guys have water? Cold water?"

"There's a running well," one of the survivors, a short Asian man, motioned to another part of the bunker.

"Jupiter, get cold water, put it in here," she shoved her water bag at him. When he complied, she opened the nozzle and turned it upside down. In a move that was slightly surprising and a little worrisome, she opened Kurt's mouth and poured water directly into his throat.

His body's reaction was to cough and sputter. It was enough to wake him up.

"Jesus Christ, don't let me drown! It's not a good look!" Kurt blinked deliriously, coughed, and spat up water. He didn't realize he was practically in Santana's lap just yet.

"I got you, Lady Hummel," she patted his back and when she could get him to sit straight, she shone a flashlight in both of his eyes again. "Are you feeling dizzy or nauseated?"

"I have woken up in some kind of weird Twilight Zone," the boy was in total disbelief and must have _just _realized who his rescuer was. "Did you try to drown me? And are you really Santana or am I hallucinating?"

Santana grinned, "I'm really Santana and, Sam, I think he's going to be fine."

Sam all but ran to Kurt and gathered him in his arms.

"Uh," Santana cleared her throat, "right."

Sam and Kurt held one another. It was .. a little weird? Quinn wasn't sure what to make of it. And at the same time, it wasn't all that unexpected.

"Sam, were you crying?" Kurt touched Sam's face. "Sweetie," he cooed.

"I thought you weren't going to be okay."

Santana's eyes were a little wide and she blinked in a bewildered sort of way in Quinn's direction. "Oo-kay! So, I hate to break it up and at the same time I do because _what _… but we're here to get you guys out of here and back to a safe zone."

"We?" Kurt pulled away from Sam – but continued holding Sam's hand – and seemed to realize that he recognized more than a few faces in the small group. "This is a really badly planned glee club reunion, isn't it?"

Rachel laughed a little tearfully, "We didn't plan it, but … "

"Universe has a funny sense of humor," Quinn added.

"Hi Kurt," Brittany grinned.

Kurt and Santana had similar confused looks on their faces. Kurt was decidedly unamused but somehow pleased.

"You mentioned something about a safe zone?" One of the other survivors asked, breaking up the small reunion.

"Yeah. There's a big group of us who survived. We built a kind of village, I guess," Brittany explained.

"We're here to get you back there." Rachel finished. "Do you guys think you can get supplies ready and get ready to travel in twenty minutes?"

"We definitely should stay on the move. And fill water bags," Quinn lifted hers and tossed it to Jupiter. The man caught it and began filling the canteens with water. One by one he tossed them back as the other survivors followed instructions and started grabbing things they needed. In twenty minutes they were ready to move.

Quinn and Rachel held up the back end of the group, always alert and quick.

Only later would Quinn ask Rachel, in a whisper, if she thought Sam and Kurt were a couple. It seemed silly to ask earlier, but now that they lay in bedrolls together, it seemed okay to ask.

"Sam was always a little gay," Rachel answered in just as quiet of a whisper.


End file.
